


eagles were born to soar

by izukillme



Series: give it a try, take that dive (it's your choice, fall or fly) [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Izuki, Base Izuki equals Base Himuro, Canon Compliant, F/F, Gen, Hyuuga Never Joined Basketball, I loved writing some of these awful puns, I've even started saying puns irl omg, Izuki Shun's Puns, Izuki on the Level of the UK (eventually), Izuki-centric, Kiyoshi Teppei's Yaoi Hands, M/M, Mild Hyuuga/Izuki, Multi, No Endgame Ships, Past Hyuuga/Izuki, and excellent form and stuff given to someone else, because you just don't work that hard and then have the title of 'hard worker', but again no real pairings, captain!izuki, gen - Freeform, not that I didn't before but I'm better at them now, slight Riko/Momoi, thank you babyzuki, this is all about eagle boy and eagle boy alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2020-11-26 23:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 143,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20938364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izukillme/pseuds/izukillme
Summary: In one world, Hyūga Junpei's bullheaded stubbornness loses to Kiyoshi's dogged determination. In another, it wins.In one world, Izuki Shun kept his lips sealed and his heart locked. In another, he learns how to open them up.In one world, an eagle's legs are chained to the stone floor. In another, it shakes off its shackles, spreads its wings out as wide as they'll go and soars.Hyūga never joins the Seirin basketball team, Izuki steps up to be captain, and everything is different.





	1. hatchling, awaken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14.08.20:   
hello everyone! I'm finally back after what feels like years of hiatus, with a complete fic sitting in my docs and waiting to be published. Writing this fic has been a journey of ups and downs, successes and failures... and most of all, it has been a labour of love. I couldn't have done it without two lovely people. My sweet friend and amazing beta, [Aki](https://ao3.org/users/Akichan_TH). It's thanks to her that my rusty first draft turned into a polished final one! And the wonderful pun-ctual, who has been such a great friend, a strong moral support and one of my primary motivators to finish this story. Thank you both for being here, and thank you to my wonderful audience.  
chapter song: [Crying for Rain](http://youtube.com/watch?v=0YF8vecQWYs) by Minami!! this is a wonderful song that truly captures how izuki feels throughout the chapter and his change through the year!

“I said _ no_, and that’s final!” Hyūga’s face is red with anger.

Kiyoshi looks so _ crushed_, and Izuki wants to comfort him, really. But he should’ve known.

There’s no use in trying to change Hyūga’s mind. Izuki knows, because he has done so through talks and shouting matches and things being thrown and silences that Hyūga never broke first. Because he’s tried and tried, and it just led to their friendship wilting into the ghost of a flower that smelled like the slowly forgotten summers of childhood.

Kiyoshi should’ve known, but then again, Kiyoshi doesn’t know Hyūga like he does.

No one will ever know Hyūga Junpei like Izuki Shun does.

* * *

A few weeks later, Kiyoshi gives up on Hyūga. Izuki nods contritely when he hears this.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and is a little surprised at himself at how empty he sounds. His voice comes out as dead as he feels, learning Hyūga refused. He doesn’t know why – it just… seems hopeless.

“That’s all right,” Kiyoshi says with a little bit of that spark back in his eyes. “We have enough people for a team and that’s really what matters.”

Izuki finds himself smiling. “I guess it is.” He doesn’t even try to make a pun, caught up in his thoughts.

_ Why can’t I get over you? _

* * *

The brown-haired girl Hyūga used to train with back in the old days goes to their school. Aida Riko, Izuki remembers. She must know quite a lot about basketball – or any sport, really. And she has that useful Scan ability Hyūga mentioned a couple of times.

_ Maybe she can coach us. We do need a coach, after all. _

He voices this thought to Koganei first, who hums and haws, mostly about Riko’s gender. Izuki and Tsuchida scold him soundly for having apprehension about a female coach and somehow get him to agree. Mitobe is all for the idea, assenting quickly with a series of rapid nods; Kiyoshi is delighted, clapping him on the back and praising him to the high heavens.

“Izuki, you’re really intelligent,” he exclaims. “You’re going to be the best point guard.”

Izuki grins.

“I suppose I made a good point,” he jokes tentatively, not wanting to put them off with his puns. Despite what most people think, he makes them wilfully and _ can _ stop if he wants to. His friends are just – _ were _ just, seeing as they aren’t on speaking terms anymore – fun to annoy. 

Instead of the usual bristly response to shut up, though, the guys in front of him all laugh loudly.

“That was good!” Koganei howls. Tsuchida and Kiyoshi crush him from both sides. Mitobe smiles and gives him a thumbs-up. Now Izuki _ never _laughs at his own jokes… but somehow, he can’t help laughing with them. 

Never mind that even this laughter can’t help fill that unseen void in his heart.

* * *

“I will only coach a team that wants to be the best in Japan!” Aida Riko declares loftily when Izuki goes to ask her if she’ll be their coach.

And _ hell_, she’s right. No one should waste their time on a team that is just playing for the heck of it.

Kiyoshi wants it. You can see it in the fire in his eyes, burning like infernos every time ‘basketball’ is mentioned. You can see it in the way he plays, strong and solid, a calm storm determined to cover the clear sky of the basketball court.

Izuki knows the acrid taste of defeat on his tongue, the feeling of not being good enough, the smell of victory being snatched away from right under his nose. He knows the slipperiness of sweat mixed with tears and the dread and the fear. He knows the feeling of asking himself, _ Am I good enough?_ and coming up with the terrifying answer of, _ Maybe not. _ And he knows the _ desire _to be the best. He is a hungry eagle, starved of victory, for whom small wins will not suffice.

No, Izuki Shun is going to be one of the best in Japan.

But for that, he needs a team who wants the same. And the problem is: he doesn’t know if they do. However, when you don’t know… the best thing to do is find out.

So he asks them one day after a rag-tag practice, “Do you guys want to be the best in Japan?”

Mitobe’s eyes shine immediately. Izuki doesn’t need a translation to know his new friend’s passion for basketball, to know that if Mitobe’s going to shoot, he will aim for the top and nowhere lower.

Tsuchida nods. “Of course I do,” he says firmly. “What’s the point of half-assing anything?”

Kiyoshi, he doesn’t even need to ask. Izuki and he just nod at each other wordlessly.

But Koganei looks doubtfully up at him. “Do you even think that we can?” he asks quietly, as if it is dangerous to even broach the topic of being the country’s best.

Izuki claps him on the back and tells him, “If you want it enough.”

Koganei doesn’t want it yet, because it still seems like an impossible dream to him. But with every practice, with every shot he makes and every three-pointer he manages successfully, it starts becoming less of an impossible dream and more of a distant one.

Distance can be travelled, though, and Izuki knows how easily it’s crossed when one _ wants _ like one never has.

* * *

“I know why you won’t accept us,” Izuki tells Riko one day after class.

She looks up suspiciously at him. “Why?”

“It’s because of Hyūga. He quit; that’s why you hate quitters.”

Riko’s eyes widen. “How did you—”

Izuki smiles bitterly. “I’m his best friend and teammate - or was,” he corrects himself. “I went through every one of those matches, same as him. I gave my best and more, same as him. One of us quit; one of us didn’t.”

She shakes her head. “I’m not _ doing _ it.”

Izuki shrugs. “I’m just saying. I’ve loved basket since I was eight, and I’m not going to stop now. If Hyūga gives up, that's his loss. But I’m not going to give up what I love more than anything. And I won’t stop for anything less than the best. Just… consider us. We’ll ask you again next week.”

Riko stares after him for a bit: he can feel her eyes on his back. He can’t help smiling to himself; he’s managed to do exactly what Kiyoshi – that cunning fox – asked him to.

He’s got her interested.

* * *

They march up to Riko a week after she questioned their desire to win and beg her to coach them again, this time on bended knee. She smiles with a dark glint in her eyes and says, “I want you to go on the rooftop and shout it out at assembly tomorrow.”

The newly-formed Seirin Basketball Club doesn’t even think twice before nodding as fast as their heads will go.

* * *

“Izuki Shun! Class 1-C! I swear that I, along with my teammates, _ will _net a national basketball trophy and become the best in Japan!”

Izuki smiles as he steps down from the railing and back in place. He’s proud of the pun, even if it wasn’t very clear; obscure puns are the best, and it feels amazing to shout it all out.

The others are quick about theirs as well, Koganei shouting in Mitobe’s stead. Kiyoshi looks slightly woozy when he steps down, and Izuki has to steady him so he won’t fall over. Riko smiles wickedly and brings them in for a huddle once they’re all done.

“First order of business,” she says with a grin, “run unless you want detention.”

That’s when the vice-principal bursts onto the rooftop, and everyone stands frozen – including Riko herself, who seems to not be taking her own advice.

“It was my idea,” she says defensively, quivering on the spot. “So just give me detention.”

“Me too,” Izuki speaks up before he can think. “I forced them to; I’m the captain. We sort of kidnapped them up here.” He gestures to the pile of rope conveniently lying in the corner of the building. It doesn’t occur to him to hesitate in taking the fall for Kiyoshi – it feels natural. It’s the least he can do, after everything Kiyoshi has done for him.

“Detention for the both of you after class today!” screams the vice principal, his lip quivering. “Now get your ungrateful behinds down to your lessons!” 

Kiyoshi gives him a grateful smile as they head downstairs to class.

“You didn’t have to,” he says. Izuki just laughs.

“You’re my friend.”

Kiyoshi’s eyes positively light up. “We’ll talk more at lunch, Shun,” he promises brightly and skips off to his seat.

_ First names already? _Izuki can’t help but smile.

“See you… Teppei,” he replies and settles down on his own. It’ll be a bit difficult for him especially, but it wouldn’t do to _ Shun _first names after all.

Oh, that was a good one!

* * *

The detention is overseen by Izuki’s ancient literature teacher, Takeda-sensei, who is quiet, docile, and never scolds anyone for talking. Plus, he has a soft spot for Izuki, who exploits this quite happily.

He and Riko manage to draft two plays and discuss six strategies – mostly ones Izuki has come up with previously but never been listened to about, or ones Riko has seen in NBA games – by the time the hour’s up. She snickers at most of his puns and doesn’t even tell him once to shut up, just whacks him with her clipboard at the particularly bad ones.

They look up at Takeda-sensei, and that’s when they realise: they need a club advisor who will let them do what they need to without trying to do any advising (which defeats the purpose, but they aren’t allowed to just _ not _ have an advisor).

Riko points at Takeda-sensei, who looks up mildly and blinks.

“Yes, children? Is there anything you would like?” he asks, voice quivering.

They exchange glances and grin like crazy.

“Takeda-sensei…” Izuki starts, using his teacher’s-pet voice, “Aida-san and I are actually starting a basketball club. Of course it wouldn’t interfere with our studies”—here he widens his eyes and shakes his head—“but we need an advisor and were wondering if you would help?”

Takeda-sensei smiles. “Surely, Izuki-kun. Are there any forms that need signing?”

“Not that I know of?” Izuki glances at Riko, who shakes her head. “No, there aren’t. We thought of having practice in the morning from five to eight and evening from four to eight-thirty, if that’s all right?”

Takeda looks a little doubtful. “I’m old,” he states. “It would be difficult for me to stay here so long, but I can try.”

“Thank you, sensei!” Izuki and Riko chorus.

When they, along with Kiyoshi (who’s very proud of their success and shows it through a giant hug), report this news to the principals, the vice-principal doesn’t look too pleased, but the principal practically forces him to grant approval for them to use the spare gym. Hoops will be ordered, says the principal.

Izuki, Kiyoshi, and Riko exchange gleeful smiles.

Finally, their basketball dream is getting closer. Finally, it’s all coming together.

* * *

Riko’s training menus are downright amazing - she’s a genius, and the last piece they needed for everything to fall in place. Now the only problem is the team itself; Kiyoshi is too soft on them. If they’re ever going to win, they need a captain who’ll go all out.

Izuki holds back the thought that he knows is emerging in his brain, the image of a confident boy bellowing out instructions to players who roll their eyes at him. This team would be perfect for him – but no. This is _ not _ the time to be sad about Hyūga.

Someone has to step up, Riko tells them after practice one day. Kiyoshi doesn’t mind being criticised as a captain – he seems to realise it’s not his forte and is very gracious about it.

“I vote Mitobe,” Izuki puts in. “He’s calm and collected, and mature, too. The speaking thing is fixed by Koganei’s translations, and we can understand him most of the time anyway.” However, Mitobe shakes his head, offering a pale-faced frown.

“He says he doesn’t think he can be a captain!” Koga says quickly. “And I don’t think I can either.”

“Count me out,” Tsuchida says. “I’m not captain material.”

“Well, we can’t go and make Coach our captain, or we’d have done that by now,” Izuki comments with a sigh. Riko hums thoughtfully.

“Actually, Izuki-kun, what about you?” she proposes, and he blinks.

“What do you mean, me?”

Kiyoshi smiles. “It’s a good idea! You’re calm and collected too, Shun, and you’re serious when you need to be.”

“Kiyoshi’s right. Izuki, you’re our best choice,” Tsuchida assents. Koganei and Mitobe nod in unison.

_ What – I can’t be a captain! I’m just… just me! _

“But I’ve only ever been a vice-captain before!” he starts defensively. “I’m not good at decision-making—”

“My _ ass _ you aren’t,” Kiyoshi cuts in hotly, a fierce face in place of his normal calm demeanour. “Who was the one to change his pass at the last second so your team would win in that two-on-two today? Who was the one to so quickly lie that he was the captain so that he’d be in detention rather than me? Who is our control tower and our point guard?”

Izuki flushes harder at the praise. “Teppei, I—”

“I agree, it’s a good choice,” Riko says. “Izuki-kun, you are Seirin High Basketball Team’s new captain, starting now!”

Izuki swallows. “Why do you all think I can do this?”

Then Kiyoshi turns to him with steel in his eyes (that must be how he got nicknamed Iron Heart - he seriously never backs down!) and asks him very clearly, “Why don’t _ you_?”

_ Why _ ** _don’t_ ** _ I think I can be captain? _

“Because nobody thought I could be until now.”

It slips out unbidden, one of the many insecurities he hides behind a facade of puns and his ‘cool’ look. He covers his mouth instantly, wishing he had never said anything, a furious pink tinting his face.

Two skinny arms wrap around him suddenly, and Izuki turns with surprise to see that the hugger is the brown-haired boy to his right.

“Koga…” he trails off, slightly uncomfortable, but the next words blow that out of the water.

“We believe in you, Itzuki,” Koganei says very seriously. “So you better believe in yourself!”

The discomfort vanishes to be replaced with awe and even a little burst of confidence. Something releases in Izuki’s chest, and he finds himself smiling softly as Koga lets go of him.

Maybe… with these guys with him… with this team who believes in him so much…

Maybe he _ can _be a captain.

Izuki smirks at his team and then assumes a serious expression.

“Fine, I’ll do it. But if I’m going to be a captain,” he snaps with a stern face, “I’m going to be the best one you can get. So first order! All of you get your asses home, you shouldn’t be here this late, and we will meet back here at five o’clock sharp tomorrow morning!”

“Yes, Captain!” they all chorus loudly, and Kiyoshi’s voice resonates the strongest. His grin stretches from ear to ear, and his infectious happiness makes Izuki happy, too.

* * *

They continue on. Izuki watches Hyūga - still awfully blond - and notices him throwing a few longing glances at the basketball gym, then walking away hurriedly.

He bites back the call that tries desperately to escape his lips and turns to go inside the gym.

* * *

The team he’s got is pretty amazing, if he does say so himself. Kiyoshi, of course, is an Uncrowned King, so what else would one expect? Tsuchida is excellent at rebounding and gets every shot, even beating Kiyoshi at it. Mitobe is a stellar defender who’s extremely tough to get past. And Koganei, despite having started basketball just this year, shows a certain aptitude for shooting threes. Izuki thinks he can easily get on Hyūga’s level if he tries hard enough.

Izuki’s noticed a few changes in himself. His reaction time is much quicker, for one, and he’s able to match with Kiyoshi almost. His Eagle Eye has gotten much stronger as well, playing against a person of Kiyoshi’s calibre - he’s been practicing in gym class too, watching people intently with his Eye and predicting the way they’re about to move. He can now zero in on their movements almost a full second before they’re made, and his focus is so much sharper than before.

And Hyūga? Well, they don’t even talk in class anymore. Hyūga is a constant presence in the back of Izuki’s mind, as is to be expected, but it’s more of a shadow of the boy he used to be than anything.

Izuki doesn’t miss the constant berating or being told to die. But he _ does _ miss his best friend. He misses the person that encouraged him to continue basketball, the person that he laughed over homework with, the person whom he helped in passing math. He misses the dedicated, tenacious basketball idiot that Hyūga used to be.

That’s what surprises him most, really. That he actually feels the loss of the guy, after all that happened. That he actually still loves him.

He tells Kiyoshi so one day, careful and controlled like he always is and yet much more open than he’s ever been. They’ve taken to eating together on the rooftop, and Izuki finds it so easy to trust Kiyoshi that he tells him everything.

“Our team was horrid. I tried and Hyūga tried, but two players weren’t enough to carry the whole team,” he starts. “That’s why he quit; we’d lost every match that year and he just blamed himself.”

Kiyoshi hums. “Why didn’t you?”

Izuki shrugs. “I blamed myself, but I didn’t think quitting would help. I just decided I’d get a new team in high school and… be better this time, fix everything I’d gone wrong with previously. But Hyūga, he just – he wouldn’t come back to it. We fought, we shouted at each other, and the things he told me… they hurt. He knew, of course, he knew exactly where to hit… we’d been friends since we were little kids, so we knew each other’s weak spots too well.”

He stares at his shoes, dangling off the rooftop, suddenly cold despite the day’s fiery heat.

“What did he say?” asks Kiyoshi quietly.

Izuki exhales. “He blamed me for everything, and told me my puns were annoying. He said I was a slacker, that I was always so busy with my jokes that I didn’t take basketball seriously. He said if I’d tried harder, been faster, stronger, _ better _… we would’ve won,” he explains clinically. It really doesn’t hurt anymore, but it did then. He just hid the pain behind a pun like always and soldiered on.

“Then he said he wished I would just shut up and stop pestering him to get back into basketball because I was the reason he quit. All our old friends sided with him. Well, they were his friends, actually. No one wanted to be the friend of the nerdy kid who made dumb puns.”

“They’re not dumb!” Kiyoshi starts indignantly.

Izuki laughs. “Some are.”

Kiyoshi shakes his head. “Go on,” he concedes.

“Hyūga then told me he wished I’d die, after all the falling out and everything – though he’s said that a lot of times, so it’s okay, really,” he starts to frantically calm Kiyoshi when he sees tears forming in the bigger boy’s eyes.

Kiyoshi sniffles. “That’s not fair at all,” he exclaims through his tears. “No friend should ever say that! Izuki, you shouldn’t die. You’re amazing, and Hyūga is stupid for not realising that.”

“You really think so?” Izuki gazes up at the blazing afternoon sun.

Kiyoshi squeezes his hand. “I do. You’re the best.”

“Thanks, man.”

“I just have one question.”

“Hm?”

“Why’d you come to Seirin if you knew there was no basketball?”

Izuki smiles. “After everything… I still loved Hyūga. I knew he needed someone, so I tagged along. He and I were tentative friends; I’d just sort of make sure he was doing okay. That kind of broke when I started hanging around you guys more.”

Kiyoshi looks stricken. “I’m so sorry – you should be with him more—”

That’s when the truth comes out of Izuki’s mouth.

“Without you, I would just be sad and drifting! Hyūga wasn’t treating me right, and you made me see that! I’m glad I’m here with you now, because you do care, and it feels amazing. And – and I don’t regret that Hyūga didn’t join, and I don’t regret that we don’t talk so much anymore. Sure, I miss him; he was my best friend. But I feel like I have something way better with you guys,” he finishes fiercely, looking into earnest brown eyes.

There’s a pause, and then—

“I’m glad I could make you happy, Shun,” Kiyoshi whispers, smiling.

The uncomfortable sadness that he feels when he thinks about Hyūga vanishes to be replaced by a warmth brighter and stronger than any sunshine, and Izuki’s heart starts to come alive a little more.

* * *

The Inter-High is upon them all of a sudden.

As promised, they play and give it their all. Seirin is a powerhouse, slamming through each round with extreme determination. They’ve trained constantly for weeks on end, and it’s starting to pay off. And it’s even better because they don’t have a proper shooting guard and they’ve still gotten this far. The possibility for consistent threes is nearly eliminated, and still Seirin wins game after game after game.

Then Kirisaki Daīchi happens, and Kiyoshi’s injured. Izuki saw everything with his eyes, but who was going to believe the word of a no-name school against a big one like Kirisaki?

They don’t have a sub, but Kirisaki seems willing to sit one of their players out and finish the match. Seirin wins, but they have to drop out. There’s no choice – the next match is versus Senshinkan, assuming they even qualify anymore. They’re short a player, and _ who _ could go up against a King of Tokyo with just four on the court?

Izuki sees a flash of bleach blond leaving the stands, and then, more than anything, he wants to curse Hyūga for leaving him to do the job he was never fit for.

But he finds himself pulling it together, gathering the team around Kiyoshi, handling the situation in a scarily calm manner.

Because they're relying on him. He sees it in the way Koganei looks to him with fear in his eyes, with the way Mitobe steps back to let him lead, with the way Tsuchida stays close to him.

Because they're relying on him, he has to stay strong for them.

Because he's _their captain_, he has to be strong for them.

* * *

Fingers run carefully through slick blond locks. The boy stares into the mirror and sighs at his reflection; it does, indeed, look awful.

He removes his glasses, picks up the scissors, and takes some hair in his hands. The scissors plough through the bleached strands, slicing them off cleanly. He doesn’t stop till he’s cut it all off, leaving short, spiky hair like he used to have.

_ Things started going awry when I bleached it. _

He picks up the bottle of colour remover, mixing the solutions, and applies it to his hair immediately with a brush.

_ I’m still scared. I’m still angry. I’m still guilty. But at least I can go back to my old self on the outside. _

Twenty minutes pass in the blink of an eye, and he gets up to rinse his hair. He washes it thoroughly, applying shampoo three times and making sure every last particle of hair colour is gone, revealing soft brown hair.

He straightens, hair sopping wet and dripping down his face, looking resolutely into the mirror once more.

_ If you’re listening, God, this is my prayer. _

_ My prayer to make things right, at least a little bit. _

* * *

Kiyoshi’s injury is worse than they’d thought.

Izuki sees the lie in his eyes as he laughs that he’s fine. It makes him want to break something.

He says instead, when everyone’s gone, “Are you going to lie to me, too?”

It’s guilting, and it’s wrong, but it works. Sadness sparks in Kiyoshi’s eyes.

“Shun, I – I just – I don’t want them to worry.”

“You’ll make them worry more when you don’t play three months after the injury.”

Kiyoshi exhales. “You’re telling them.”

Izuki nods. “I’m telling them. How long?”

“If I go for rehab? Six months to a year. I’ll be able to play in the Winter Cup next year, but no more basketball after that for me, ever.”

“And the other option?” Because there has to be another way. Because Kiyoshi _ cannot _ be deprived of his lifeblood, because Izuki _ won’t _let that happen.

Kiyoshi sighs. “Two years in America for treatment. I won’t be able to play with you guys.”

Izuki takes a deep, shuddering breath. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes.

He pushes them back and asks, “No other way?”

“No other way,” Kiyoshi confirms.

Then light footsteps enter, and Izuki realises Riko’s been listening all this time.

“Teppei-kun,” she starts, “we aren’t going to be selfish about this.”

Izuki knows what she’s saying, and he agrees.

“You have to go to America,” Riko continues. “Basketball is your _ life._ It’s better that you continue to play it forever than ruin your legs now just to play with us.”

Then Kiyoshi’s fists clench in the covers and he roars, “_B__ASKET DOESN’T MATTER IF I DON’T HAVE YOU GUYS WITH ME!_”

The intensity of this raging wave of emotion that flows out of him takes Izuki by surprise.

_ Basket doesn’t matter… if he doesn’t have us? _

“You’re an idiot,” he tells Kiyoshi. “Riko is right.”

The girl in question has slipped out, murmuring, “I’ll leave you two to it, then.”

“But I know you’re going to do what you want,” Izuki continues, looking deep into Kiyoshi’s eyes. “So… I’ll see you in the Winter Cup. And that”—here he grins—“we’re going to win like never before.”

Kiyoshi nods and smiles. “Thank you, Shun.”

It’s more than just thanking him for that promise. It’s thanking him for understanding.

“Any time, Teppei.” Izuki smiles, and means it.

* * *

Summer comes and goes. The Winter Cup qualifiers come and go. Seirin doesn’t participate; how can they with just four players?

Izuki bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from thinking about how things would be different if they’d had Hyūga.

Seirin doesn’t waste their time. They train, and train, and train, and then they train some more. And then some more until they’re running themselves into the ground and Riko has to threaten them to stop with a _ knife_.

Izuki works on his speed. He’s getting faster now, zipping across the court like he’s on wheels. It feels like flying.

Koganei’s threes are getting excellent. He’s been attempting to emulate Ray Allen, but failing each time. Izuki remembers another person, another summer of trying to perfect Ray Allen’s shooting form.

Another time that Hyūga Junpei gave up.

But this time is different. This time is different because Koganei won’t stop giving it his bloody all. Because what used to be pictures of cats and selfies on his phone has turned into video after video of basketball games.

Because Koganei doesn’t back down, and that gives Izuki hope.

Then one fine day he’s shooting, and his hand doesn’t even tremble during the release. The ball lands in the basket, barely grazing the rim, and Koganei stares at his hands in shock.

“I did it,” he whispers as if it’s so surprising.

“I’m proud of you. That took a lot of balls,” Izuki says, clapping him on the back and grinning.

The rest of the team stops momentarily to let out half-groans and half-snickers – they can never decide which when it comes to their crazy captain and his crazy puns.

But Riko, like always, settles for a nice solid whack with her clipboard and yells at the rest to get a move on – with a proud smile on her face, nevertheless.

Koganei’s move works sometimes, and sometimes it doesn’t. His form is… _ off_, slightly, by something Izuki can’t pinpoint. He adds his own little quirks into the shot too, ending up with a strange mix of Ray Allen’s form and a regular one. Sure, it isn’t an exact copy of Allen – Koganei does not yet have the technical skill for that.

But it’s _something, _and that something is pretty amazing.

* * *

Izuki bumps into Hyūga a couple of times around the neighbourhood, when he’s practising with his Eagle Eye or doing exercises to improve his reaction time. Hyūga – dark-haired again, someone must have told him he looks awful – always seems as if he wants to say something. He never does.

Izuki is glad for it.

He doesn’t have the energy to fix this relationship anymore. He’s done trying with Hyūga Junpei.

_ (He ignores the little voice that says ‘ _ but it isn’t complete without him’ _ and leashes his emotions even tighter than before.) _

* * *

He visits Kiyoshi often during his rehab. Kiyoshi always reassures him that it’s going fine, but Izuki makes sure to double-check with the doctors. And thankfully, Kiyoshi is right, most of the time.

Kiyoshi always wants to protect everybody, but you can’t lie to an eagle’s eye.

Hey, that rhymed! He’ll have to put it down on paper later.

“So, what are you guys planning for next year?” Kiyoshi asks.

Izuki shrugs. “Train. Make sure we get good grades for the team.”

Kiyoshi grabs his hand. “Do your best to win the Inter-High,” he says. “For me.”

_ Another person, another time his hand had been clutched and he’d been asked to win. _

Izuki laughs, trying to shake off the memory.

“What do you think we’re going to do, try to lose?”

* * *

The end of the year rolls around all too soon. Exam results turn up, and Riko is first overall. She’s very pleased about it and won’t stop rubbing it in Izuki’s face (he came second). He personally doesn’t mind but pretends to get irritated just to make her laugh.

The others do fairly well too. Tsuchida is thirtieth, Mitobe around the sixties, and Koganei hovers at one hundred and one out of three hundred, which is pretty decent; it means they can all stay in the club.

It’s been a year since Hyūga turned down Kiyoshi’s offer. One year of playing together, one year of cheerful camaraderie and fraternity built tightly around the sport they all love. One year of friendship that feels like it’s lasted for decades already.

One year of something that resembles a family more than a group of cronies, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (original A/N, 07.10.19:)  
Izuki is really OP in this fic, about Uncrowned King-level because you do not work that hard and still languish at a low level. Fuck Himuro, honestly; Izuki is the Original Hard Worker and I’m giving him his due credit.  
Izuki often acts brave, putting up a façade for the world to see. He's a lot deeper than just comic relief, as we see vs. Hayama, and it’s just a shame that he’s never explored by fan fiction. I feel that he’s always holding himself together and is extremely resilient to everything – I mean, getting told to die by your best friend and never being considered as the same in return despite the fact that you gave up your most loved sport for that friend isn’t exactly easy. But Izuki always stays by Hyūga’s side when really, he doesn’t have to at all.  
So, yeah. This is my take on what things would've been like if Hyūga'd quit, period, and Izuki had to step up.  
Comments make a blob happy!


	2. liftoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Repost: 14.08.2020  
chapter song: [ I Wanna Party ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T7VMEdYLwsY) from Rio! hahaha ik it's a funny choice but i love the imagery of flight and a newly-minted young bird being excited about their takeoff xD

Before Izuki knows it, their first year has come to an end, and he’s stepping into Seirin as a newly minted eleventh-grader with Riko and the other guys. He feels almost bare without Hyūga by his side murmuring some sarcastic comment, but shoves down the emotion and drowns himself in enjoying his other friends’ company and discussing how best to recruit new members.

Izuki really hopes they get some good first-years; they need a stand-in for their Iron Heart, after all. It would be nice to win the Inter-High too, because it’d make Kiyoshi proud.

_ It’d make Hyūga proud, _ whispers his mind.

He ignores it as usual and raises his voice to be heard over the loud argument that Riko is having with Tsuchida about God knows what, shouting, “Come on, Coach, we have to set up our stall or we won’t have a spot!”

Riko huffs and follows after dumping the advertising flyers into the disgruntled Tsuchida’s hands. Izuki leads them to the last-but-one table, where his classmate Sato is sitting and checking his phone with boredom in his eyes. He asked Sato to save a place for them just in case they got there late, and the burly boy has come through.

“Thanks, man,” Izuki says to him, tapping him on the shoulder.

Sato nods. “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

He gets up lazily, stretching a few times, and leaves the place just as quickly as he came. Riko arranges the forms neatly on her clipboard, and Izuki smoothes out the table drape, setting a paper cup of water on top.

Fifteen minutes pass, then thirty, forty-five. Izuki closes his eyes and leans back in his seat, resisting the urge to take out a book from his bag, and Riko is visibly trembling with irritation.

After another half-hour of silence, she snaps.

“No one?!” she finally screeches. “I don’t believe this! Seriously? Not even _ one _ person wants to play basketball?!”

And wonder of wonders, just as she finishes ranting, a tall, muscular redhead appears in front of them - _ carrying Koga by the scruff of his collar_.

Koga kicks his legs out, wriggling in the redhead’s powerful grip, and wheezes, “He - wants to join—”

The first-year plunks Koganei on the ground without a hint of remorse; Koga gives him a resentful glare and crosses his arms, leaning on Izuki’s half of the desk and side-eyeing the large kid.

_ Manhandling a club member, and a senior at that… exactly the way to get on Riko’s bad side. _

Izuki himself isn’t particularly impressed by this new kid, despite that physique that clearly indicates the amount of training he does, the powerful arm and leg muscles that point to how much of an asset he’ll be on the team. (Okay, so maybe he _ is _a little impressed. Shut up.)

Riko takes the first-year’s sign-up form, poring over it with Izuki after offering the giant - Kagami Taiga, according to his sheet, and an American returnee to boot - the glass of water. Kagami bounces in his seat, clearly impatient to get up and get going.

“No reason for joining?” Izuki asks, meeting Kagami’s intense gaze with a cool stare of his own.

Kagami shrugs. “Basketball’s the same no matter where you go in Japan.”

He rises, kicking back his chair with a loud scrape, then draining the cup in his hand and crushing it into a little ball. He turns and leaves without so much as a ‘please’ or a ‘thank you’, flicking the crushed cup into the wastebasket with barely a glance at the can.

_ He’s got a very good aim… _ Izuki notes. _ And that physique is definitely impressive. Especially for a sport like basketball. His arm strength seems to be on point as well. This guy may just turn out to be one of our greatest assets. _

“What a jerk. He’d better at least be good at basketball for all that,” says Koga with a scowl. “I’ll go back and keep recruiting.”

“Okay.” Riko gives him a thumbs-up. Koganei nods, straightening his uniform where Kagami crumpled it in his iron grip, then sets off purposefully towards the school gates. Izuki wonders for a split second what the scenario would be if he weren’t the captain, and was instead out there. Maybe making puns at the freshmen’s entrance would _ entrance _ them?

That was good!

They receive a few more forms over the next couple of hours, and then it’s time to head up to class for orientation. As Izuki and Riko turn to leave, the coach notices a form left behind.

“I missed this!” she cries, picking it up.

_ Kuroko Tetsuya _

_ Teikō Junior High _

That elicits soft exclamations from both captain and coach, who look at each other with parted lips.

Riko begins, “Do you think—”

“A part of the Generation of Miracles?” Izuki completes, breath catching in his throat.

Riko balls her hands up into fists, whining, “How did I miss such a golden egg?!”

Izuki winces at the scene she’s making, waving away the confused glares that come their way with a sheepish smile as they head for class. Well, she wouldn’t be a good coach if she didn’t have a set of lungs on her.

Neither of them notice the ‘reason for joining’ column that is, yet again, left blank on Kuroko Tetsuya’s sheet.

* * *

The first practice of Seirin’s second-year team begins bright and early - well, bright. Three in the afternoon post school isn’t exactly early, but the sun shines through the windows and makes Izuki grimace.

The freshmen whisper amongst themselves, pointing at Izuki and Riko. Izuki soon realises none of the fingers are directed at him, but at her, and feels the immense urge to break a few arms.

“That manager’s pretty cute.”

“Isn’t she a second-year?”

“I wish she was sexier.”

At that, before Riko can lose her cool, Izuki does. He sets his shoulders and walks to the front of the line, crossing his arms and saying, “I just misheard you idiots objectifying your coach, right?”

“C - coach...” stutters one nervous-looking boy who hasn’t spoken yet.

Izuki nods. “That’s our advisor,” he adds, pointing to Takeda-sensei. Honestly, who could mistake gentle-mannered, unathletic Takeda-sensei for a basketball coach?

“Oh,” murmurs the nervous boy. “I thought so. The - the whistle on Coach-san’s neck...”

_ You did? Clever. Didn’t assume by gender, and observed the whistle. Maybe I’ll make a point guard of this kid, huh? _

Riko makes the applicants line up in front of her, using her Scan ability to determine each one’s potential. She comments on their skills and where they can improve; Izuki never fails to be impressed by her fantastic predictions.

“How...” whispers the nervous brown-haired boy.

“She can look at you and tell all your stats in numbers, as well as how far you can push yourself. Her father’s a sports trainer, and she’s been studying the human body for so long that she developed this ability,” Izuki informs him with a hint of pride. No other coach that he’s met has the Analyser’s Eye, or puts nearly as much hard work into their teams as Riko does for Seirin.

Riko stops at the end of the line, staring up at Kagami’s shirtless body as if she’s in a trance. Izuki can’t blame her; the guy’s musculature is pretty impressive.

“His numbers are through the roof! These aren’t the stats of a high school boy!” he hears her mutter. “Such raw talent… so much potential... I’ve never seen anything remotely like this.”

She stares at Kagami for a few more seconds; Izuki sees the tall kid start to get weirded out and calls teasingly, “Coach, stop salivating over the new kid, will you?”

Riko turns pink, then steps back, shaking her head. “Got distracted. Where’s the Teikō kid? Kuroko-kun?”

Izuki looks around, but he can’t see anyone else. “You looked over all of them. Tiger over there is the last one.” Kagami bristles slightly at the nickname, but one unimpressed look from Riko has him quieting down and in place.

“Looks like he isn’t here today,” adds Tsuchida, cracking his neck.

“Okay, then, let’s get started with practice!” Riko says.

“Um. Excuse me,” says a quiet voice from nowhere. “I’m Kuroko.”

A slight, blue-haired boy materialises just in front of the clipboard Riko is brandishing, like he’s been there all the while. For her part, Riko shrieks like a banshee and jumps a mile high.

“I - _ wh _-?! How long have you been here?” she exclaims.

Izuki stares as the boy - Kuroko - responds, “The whole time,” with a weary look in his eyes. Riko doesn’t say anything, just mutely looks at Kuroko, but Izuki knows what’s running in her head.

_ He was there all this time and I didn’t see him? How come? A member of the Generation of Miracles is practically invisible? How can someone like that be part of such a bunch of standout players? _

But the cogs are starting to turn in Izuki’s brain, an old memory stirring from sleep at the reveal of Kuroko’s invisibility. The answer is on the tip of his tongue, but for the life of him, he can’t spell it out.

Kuroko takes off his shirt without being compelled to, revealing a frankly unimpressive physique - especially so when compared to that of Kagami. Riko runs him over with a critical eye, having gotten over her shock, and raises an eyebrow.

That can mean only one of two things. Either his stats are just as fantastic as Kagami’s, which is highly unlikely, or he’s far below average even for a normal basketball player.

Izuki’s banking on the latter, and he turns out to be right when Riko has them run some basic drills - both to test the second-years’ memory and to get a read of the first-years’ abilities. Kagami excels at each one, but Kuroko falls short every time. Izuki is beginning to wonder whether Kuroko will even make the cut as a bench player, let alone a starter. He simply can’t reconcile this kid with one of the great and famous ‘Generation of Miracles’.

Riko is of the same opinion. As they walk home after practice, she asks, “What do you think of Kuroko?”

Izuki shrugs. “Is there really anything _ to _ think?”

Riko sighs. “I… don’t know. I expected so much more, and yet it feels like I’m missing something. It would be easy to classify him as one of the players who ride on the coattails of the school, but something’s eating at me. His lack of presence… it’s almost like he’s a phantom.”

That’s when it clicks. Izuki lets out a wordless cry, stopping in his tracks as realisation hits him like a brick.

Riko gives him a concerned look. “You okay?”

Izuki shakes his head, grinning. “I’m fine. Just… I know who Kuroko is.”

“Oh? Care to share?”

Izuki nods, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. “The phantom sixth man. I thought it was just a story, but turns out he’s real. And he’s playing for us.”

Riko gasps, hands flying to her mouth. “You mean… the phantom sixth man of the Miracles? _ That _guy?”

“I think so. We can’t be sure, but I have a feeling I’m right about this,” Izuki says, looking up at the sky and smiling.

He can’t wait to tell Kiyoshi all about today’s events.

* * *

The next day, Riko has the idea of holding a game between the first- and second-years. It’s the first step to the freshmen becoming real members of the club, as she wants to test how high they are willing to _ shoot _for victory. (That was good!) Riko won’t accept players who lack passion, even if they’re talents that come once in a millennium, like Kagami. Izuki wholeheartedly agrees; if you don’t have a love for the game, it means nothing.

It’s a four-man game, since Kiyoshi’s out of commission and the second-years don’t have an extra player. Riko will act as the referee, and Takeda-sensei will man the score chart. Izuki shifts into his blue practice jersey with the number 4 on it, still a little unused to wearing the digit. He’s been 5 throughout his basketball career, and even a full year of wearing the captain’s number hasn’t changed the slight wonder he feels on seeing 4 on his clothes.

“We have to keep Kagami under control,” he instructs the rest of his team, which consists of the other second-years. “Tsuchida, Mitobe, that’s on you guys. Koga, you and I will take on the offence. Don’t let them think they can beat us!”

“‘Course not,” says Koga with a sideways grin.

“Let’s show these greenies what basketball is like in high school,” Tsuchida says, smiling sadistically. Izuki is inclined to wipe a tear from his eyes at how well he’s learned, but refrains.

“It’s an entirely different ball game, _ kitakore_!” he chirps instead.

The other two groan, whereas Mitobe gives him a dull, unimpressed look. Izuki laughs it off and heads onto the court, followed by his friends.

Mitobe and Kagami duel for the tip-off. Izuki has no doubts that the first-year will win, considering his bulk and height in comparison to Mitobe’s; and Kagami comes through, pulling the ball close to his chest and running up the court.

Izuki smirks to himself. It’s all playing out just as he expected; Kagami isn’t the type to pass the ball when he gets his hands on it. The timing is perfect for Tsuchida to block his shot, and block he does, swiping the ball away with ease.

_ Don’t be so predictable! _

Izuki grabs the ball and heads up the court. The tall first-year with the slicked-back hair, Fukuda, moves to block him, but Izuki’s much faster than he is and easily gets past. Though the nervous kid, Furihata, tries to stop him, Izuki has no trouble laying the ball in and scoring the first points for his side.

However, Kagami is as quick to recover as he is to attack. With a growl, he drops low in front of Koganei, attempting to steal the ball from the shooting guard. Koga is talented, but Kagami is far better in terms of defensive technique, and he wins their one-on-one with ease. He tears through Tsuchida’s screen like he’s batting away a cobweb and dunks the ball into the basket.

Izuki’s almost too stunned to move, but he gathers his wits quickly and gives chase. Mitobe snatches up the ball, passing to Koga, who scores a three.

Kagami gnashes his teeth - clearly, he hates losing. It’s good on one hand, since the very foundation of Seirin’s gameplay is that sort of passion. On the other hand, though, Kagami isn’t very much of a team player; he’ll need to learn some team spirit if he wants to play for them.

And speaking of Kuroko… Izuki narrows his eyes, looking around for the slight blue-haired boy. Kuroko is difficult to find and even more difficult to keep track of; his disappearing act is insanely unfair. But once Izuki does find him, he makes it a point to watch him carefully. It’s hard at first, given that Kuroko’s whole gig is drawing attention away from himself, but Izuki manages. He observes Kuroko for a while, allowing Tsuchida, Mitobe, and Koganei to control the game.

Sadly, he finds nothing to prove his theory. Contrary to all their expectations of an arrogant but intensely talented player who would monopolise the ball, Kuroko simply stands in place, observing the court silently. He allows Fukuda, Kagami, and Furihata to do all the work and moves out of their way when they go up to score.

“Itzuki!” shouts Koga, and Izuki tears his gaze away from Kuroko to catch the ball.

It’s time to show these first-year brats what Seirin’s made of.

* * *

Ten minutes later, the second-years are well ahead. Despite his size and sheer ability, Kagami is unable to break past Mitobe’s defence, and the other two first-years cannot hold a candle to the rest of their seniors. Izuki wipes a rivulet of sweat from his jaw and looks at the scoreboard - 55 to 14, in favour of the second-years.

That won’t do. Fukuda and Furihata will need to up their game if they can’t even defeat Izuki and his players. To be fair, he and the rest of the seniors _ are _ players of fine calibre, but if Seirin wants to win _ anything _ \- especially with the Generation of Miracles in play - they’ll need every ounce of talent and hard work that they’ve got.

Izuki snaps his gaze up to Riko’s, a multitude of questions in his eyes. She nods, an almost imperceptible jolt of her chin - she sees it too, and has the same doubts that he does.

_ What do we do about these kids? _

He jerks his head to the left, a short movement that says, _ Later? For now, I’ll worry about this game. _

Riko dips her chin in acknowledgement, sharp eyes returning to the court at large. Izuki puts all his thoughts out of his mind and focuses on the game once more.

It’s a good thing that he does, because the pass that he was about to receive from Koganei suddenly changes direction, hurtling straight for Furihata.

Izuki stares at the ball in openmouthed shock as Furihata lays it in, rubbing his eyes and blinking.

_ What - where _ _ — _

Kuroko shimmers into vision just a few feet away from him and gives him a small, sly smile. Izuki closes his mouth but is unable to help his own wide grin.

His theory was right.

* * *

Cut to fifteen minutes later, and Mitobe’s defence is splintering. While strong, he can only cage a beast like Kagami for so long, and with Kuroko’s insane pass redirections, the first-years are starting to catch up.

“Oy! Don’t fall behind!” Izuki calls to his year-mates, dribbling quickly and shooting. The ball swings around in the basket a little before dropping in; less perfect than he would have liked, but it’s two points regardless. “We can’t let these little brats overtake us so easily!”

“Aye, captain!” Koga salutes, taking the ball from under the basket and darting up the court. He circumvents Fukuda’s sloppy guarding position and drops it in beautifully, bringing the score to 75 - 54. Izuki can’t help a pleased half-smirk. Though this isn’t a real competition, he can’t help but enjoy the fact that his side is ahead.

Of course, that all comes crumbling down in a matter of minutes. Because that’s apparently what life likes to do to Izuki Shun.

It starts with Kagami crashing out of Mitobe’s defence powerfully and pushing through the hasty screen that Tsuchida throws up. Furihata, dribbling the ball a few metres away from Izuki, passes to Fukuda. Izuki sees the opportunity for a steal and lunges—

And Kuroko strikes.

The pass rockets away, flying towards Kagami, who leaps and dunks it easily. Staring up at him, Izuki feels like a little insect watching a bird soaring in the sky.

_ What raw talent… _

From that point, the game explodes into something else entirely. Kagami scores left and right, aided by Kuroko’s timely passes, and the other freshmen - Kawahara being subbed in on and off - take the chance to display some of their skills. Though the seniors push harder than ever, grabbing another ten points, Kagami is as unstoppable as a ravaging wildfire consuming everything in its path.

When Riko blows the final whistle, the score is 86 - 85: in favour of the _ freshmen._

If this were any other game, Izuki would be disappointed, but now he has to smile. Kagami and Kuroko are going to be a couple of the most fantastic additions that Seirin has seen in its short life - he can’t wait to assimilate them into the team. Fukuda, Kawahara, and Furihata have also shown how well they can fight if pressured; with enough practice, they’ll definitely reach Tsuchida’s or Mitobe’s level at the very least.

“Nice job, kids!” Izuki announces, clapping Kagami on the back and grabbing Kuroko around the shoulders. The slight boy seems surprised that Izuki even noticed him there, but it disappears quickly to be replaced by a small smile.

“So, do we get to be on the team now?” asks Fukuda nervously. “Did we pass the test?”

“Amazing work, boys, but not just yet.” Riko grins mischievously. “You still have to do one more thing.”

* * *

It’s a bit of a struggle not to laugh as the freshmen scream out their vows from the school rooftop at assembly the next day; Izuki’s a hundred percent sure he didn’t look this dorky or diffident doing it. The nervousness and lack of conviction is obvious in their voices, but there’s a hidden undercurrent of steel to each one, clear as day if you were looking for it but easily missed if you weren’t. Luckily, Izuki _ is _ looking for it, and he isn’t disappointed.

When Kagami finishes with his belligerent speech, oozing with bravado and pride, Izuki waits for Kuroko to step up and begin. The quiet ones always have the hardest-hitting words, and Izuki is intent on hearing Kuroko’s reason for playing at Seirin instead of a big-name school like Kaijō.

Sadly, that is not to be. Izuki spots the balding head of the vice-principal and sighs to himself; that guy is the most annoying and meddling person he’s ever had the misfortune of meeting. Who in their right mind takes offence to a bunch of high-schoolers yelling from the school rooftop?

(Okay, so maybe they do. Not the point.)

Riko lands up in detention, but she shoves some training menus into Izuki’s hands and orders him to make sure the team follows through. Izuki gulps at the glint in her eye, knowing that if he doesn’t, she’ll find out _ somehow_, and bears the papers of doom to the gym.

At the end of the practice, Seirin is utterly beat. Riko has upped the intensity of the workout, either out of spite that only she got caught or out of ‘love’ for her team. The entire team is leaning against the walls of the gym, panting like dogs; Fukuda looks close to coughing up a lung.

“All right,” Izuki huffs, pulling himself upright and taking a long swallow of water, “we’re done for the day. We’ve run all the drills and workouts Coach asked us to; you’re free to go.”

The new members waste no time in clearing out of the gym, leaving the mess of training equipment for the seniors to clean up. The second-years share long-suffering glances and get to work, rolling nets and putting away balls with practised motions.

“What do you think Kuroko was gonna say?” asks Tsuchida thoughtfully, wheeling the cart of basketballs across the room. Izuki goes to help, and they push it together.

“I’m not sure,” he replies, leaning against the wall once they get the cart into place. “But I think we’re going to find out soon. Kuroko’s quiet, but not silent.”

“That makes _ no _ sense, Itzuki,” Koganei says, a look of confusion on his face.

Izuki laughs. “Kuroko’s quiet. He doesn’t talk much. But he isn’t _ silent _; he doesn’t allow himself to be walked over, he has a very firm set of beliefs, and he has no problem expressing them. That’s what I meant.”

Mitobe dips his chin in agreement. Tsuchida hums softly, “That’s a nice way of looking at it.”

Izuki shrugs and gets back to work. They’ll see about that tomorrow, for better or for worse.

* * *

It turns out he was right - and it _ is _ for the better, Izuki decides, a grin on his face as he looks at the giant words that have been scratched into the sand of the school grounds.

_ We will be the greatest in Japan. _

* * *

The first-years are really cute, to be honest. Izuki finds himself with a soft spot for Furihata, the person who he decides will have to be point guard (and captain) once he’s gone. Fukuda and Kawahara are sweet too, earnest and eager to learn. Kagami pretends to be brusque, but underneath the bravado is possibly the softest heart Izuki’s ever seen.

And then there’s Kuroko. At first, Izuki didn’t know what to make of him; Kuroko is an enigma, someone so quiet and unassuming that learning who he is doesn’t come easily. He hides all his feelings with a mask of calmness that has become such a deeply ingrained part of him that no one can tell that it is simply a veil.

But Izuki knows what it’s like to wear such a mask for so long. So he looks at Kuroko, and he peels aside the top layer and peers into what lies inside.

And it’s a world of pain. Kuroko’s the type to place friendship above all else, and the raw hurt from the debacle with the Miracles is like onions burning Izuki’s eyes. It’s obvious that _ something _ happened with them, something that Kuroko isn’t disclosing, and Izuki is willing to bet all his money that it involves their sudden spike in talent at the end of their third year. Kuroko hates the Generation of Miracles just as much as the rest of the world does. It’s just that he knows who they _ really _are, and that’s why it hurts him even more.

Then comes the determination, the very _ foundation _ of what Kuroko Tetsuya is. ‘Tetsuya’ is indeed an apt name for him – he’s made of an iron will, if nothing else. And he is kind, too kind for his own good.

Izuki can’t help but wholeheartedly support his underclassman’s goals. He’s been there too, trying to convince a friend out of something you _ know _ is bad for them, and he’s failed.

(And maybe it’d give him a little more hope if he saw Kuroko succeed.)

* * *

The next day comes with two surprises - one pleasant and the other… not so much.

The good news is that Riko and her bullheaded determination have convinced the coach of the national-level school Kaijō to hold a practice match with them. The bad news is that Kaijō’s new ace, Kise Ryōta, has decided to grace Seirin’s gym in all his golden glory, preening and primping for all the legions of fans that flock to him.

Izuki surveys the pretty-boy model, not trusting the look in those brown irises. Kise can give his angelic smiles and sparkle all he likes; he’s not fooling Izuki, especially not with that cunning spark in his eyes.

Finally he detaches himself from his fangirls, Riko quick to shoo them away with her death glares, and addresses Kuroko first.

“Hey, Kurokocchi,” he says brightly. “I came by to say hi and check out your teammates!”

Kuroko’s expression turns weary. “I’m guessing you mean a lot more than just that?” he asks softly, not fooled by the innocent act.

Kise smiles, and it’s far colder than the sunny mien he has worn so far, showing a hint of the storm that lies beneath. “Ah, I just couldn’t understand why you’d choose such a weak school. These guys can’t dream of coming close to us. I really came to make you an offer.”

Kuroko tenses visibly. His discomfort around Kise is palpable, and Izuki’s about ready to snap, “You’re not welcome here,” when Kise opens his mouth to speak again.

“Oh, you came to make an offer, huh?” comes Kagami’s belligerent voice, interrupting him. A ball hurtles full force at Kise, who’s gazing in the other direction; he blocks the ball singlehandedly without even looking. It thuds to the ground uselessly, followed by Seirin’s shocked stares.

“I’ll make you this offer - play me,” Kagami says to Kise, who watches him with some degree of cold amusement. “Let’s see who’s the victor. A one-on-one, to test our strength. I want to see what this great ‘Generation of Miracles’ is made out of!”

“I’d be glad to show you,” Kise says with a grin that’s more like a dagger than a friendly smile. He shucks off his blazer, dumping it in a corner of the gym, and moves towards the basketball hoop to take up an offensive position.

Kagami defends with his entire body, loose and low to the ground for stability and ease of movement. He isn’t underestimating Kise, despite his earlier words about him being a ‘pretty boy’ - Kagami can recognise a tough opponent when he sees one.

That defence, however, isn’t enough to stop one of the Generation of Miracles. Kise simply blitzes past Kagami like he’s nothing, turning around him and jumping.

It’s the same move that Kagami had used on Izuki himself not fifteen minutes ago.

Kagami is quick to react, leaping for the block. However, Kise is too strong for him. He dunks over Kagami, sending the redhead tumbling to the floor and landing on his bottom in a most ungainly fashion. Kagami stares up at Kise with wild eyes, as if trying to comprehend what just happened; Kise simply smirks to himself and rolls the basketball around in his palm.

“Well, this is disappointing,” he says to no one in particular. “I never thought that Kurokocchi would choose such a weak light.”

Izuki and Riko exchange mystified looks. _ What the hell does Kise mean by that? _

Kuroko just sighs. “Go, Kise-kun. I look forward to our practice match - there at least I can fight with basketball instead of words. I think we’ll end up surprising you.”

Kise grins. “I certainly hope so. But I can’t leave without pitching my offer.”

“What offer?” Izuki says finally, voice hard as diamond.

Kise gives him a withering look. “No need to be so rude, captain-san.” Then he turns to Kuroko, and his expression changes to something Izuki cannot identify.

“Join us at Kaijō, Kurokocchi. We made such a good team together, didn’t we? Let’s be that again,” he says, a hint of sincerity in his light voice. “Your talent is wasted on these unskilled guys.”

Kuroko stiffens. “Seirin’s _ my _ team,” he says with quiet determination. “I’m not leaving them, especially not to come to you.”

Kise pouts. “Come now, Kurokocchi. Don’t you want to win?”

“Of course. But I want to win with _ them_. I won’t come, Kise-kun,” Kuroko says firmly.

Kise sighs, looking up at the ceiling with a nostalgic smile. “You were always so stubborn,” he says fondly. “Fine, then. I suppose I’ll see you at the practice match.” That foxlike slyness returns as he continues, “I’ll enjoy crushing your new… _ team_.”

Izuki has to bite his lip to stop from socking the arrogant brat as Kise leaves, fancy jacket fluttering behind him.

_ What a brat. I seriously hope they’re all not like this… _

He glances at Kuroko, whose eyes are churning with some unidentified emotion, and releases a breath of his own. That boy has too many secrets.

* * *

Izuki goes home that day and reads up everything he can find about the Generation of Miracles. And what he sees is… surprising, to say the least.

The Teikō team in their first and second years was a tightly knit group, playing as a single functional unit. Izuki carefully observes their in-game interactions with Kuroko, noting the look of hidden tenderness on both ends. But in their third year, something seemed to have splintered. Something vital to their working as a team…

Izuki rubs his thumb over his lip as he watches the recording of the match, observing how… lifeless their play is. As if they’re just going through the motions, like basketball isn’t fun for them anymore. He scouts for Kuroko and spots him on the bench, almost invisible, expression downcast and eyes sad as he watches his teammates.

The Miracles walk off the court, barely glancing at each other or at their opponents as they do. The score is 35 - 120, obviously in their favour: but they don’t seem even remotely happy at the victory, just bored and quiet. Even the handshake with the opposing team seems derogatory.

Izuki watches each one carefully, observing the look in their eyes, and realises it isn’t just boredom. It’s arrogance, the heights of which he has never seen before.

He chuckles harshly, turning off the screen and burying his head in his hands. Oh, God. _ That’s _ why Kuroko joined a young school like Seirin. Despite being less talented individually, Seirin’s unity was what had carried them through the Inter-High.

_ You want to win? It’s an easy answer, and the expected answer. Everybody wants to win… but everyone also has an ulterior motive for it. _

What a cleverly constructed facade - just like Kuroko himself is bland and unnoticeable, his mask, too, is what is expected of him. But Izuki knows better, and is smart enough to piece together this much.

Kuroko wants to prove something to the Generation of Miracles. More specifically, he wants to show them what a team means again. That sort of bond that he had with them in the first two years can’t have broken completely; there’s always something left of those kinds of friendships.

Izuki closes his eyes and tries not to think about why he is so sure of that piece of knowledge. He instead decides to invest his brain in coming up with a suitable nickname for the Generation of Miracles. ‘Rainbow’, ‘Pissy Brats’, and ‘Generation of Morons’ are all rivals for the spot, but ultimately Izuki knows which one will win out.

A devious smile spreads across his face as he fits the nickname he’s chosen with the image of the Miracles, and he starts laughing to himself like a madman in the safety of his room at two o’clock in the morning.

* * *

Predictably, Kuroko drags him aside at practice the next day and says, “I have something to tell you, Izuki-senpai.”

Izuki smiles at him. “Is it about your five evil exes?”

Kuroko looks horrified. “My _ what_?!”

He said it out loud? Yikes. Granted it had been meant to tease Kuroko, but he hadn’t meant to let it slip so easily.

“I call the Miracles that in my head. Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

“B – but why my _ exes_?!” Kuroko splutters, still rosy pink.

Izuki shrugs, saying with a small smirk, “It sounds funny, and you have to admit that Kise acts like a clingy ex-girlfriend.”

“Senpai, please don’t call Kise-kun my ex-girlfriend,” Kuroko says, looking green.

“All right, all right,” Izuki says, still smirking, but puts his hands up in a conciliatory manner. “Not doing that. So is it about how they forgot what basketball means and that you want to show them that again?”

Kuroko chokes. “H – how did y – you—”

“Know? I know a mask when I see one, Kuroko. Yours is very good, but it’s eventually no different from any other.” And for an expert like him in hiding his true feelings, it’s barely anything to take apart Kuroko’s.

Kuroko stares and then mutters something along the lines of, “scarier than Akashi-kun.”

Izuki shakes it off and continues, “Besides, I understand your position. I was in a similar situation myself last year.”

“You had five evil exes?” Kuroko asks, blue eyes wide and earnest.

“What?” Izuki frowns, blinking at his junior. “No – wait, didn’t you just ask me to stop calling them that?”

“Well… I guess it _ is _kind of funny. It’s going to be my nickname for them from now on, too,” Kuroko says with a small, devious smile. Izuki laughs, slapping his shoulder gently.

“Come on. Let’s get back to practice so we can make your exes history, _ kitakore_!” he tells Kuroko, who answers by grinning. He seems to have forgotten that he ever asked about Izuki’s own experience, and Izuki doesn’t bring it up.

He has better things to think about.

* * *

The day of the practice match dawns upon them a little too quickly. Izuki and Riko have run the team into the ground, himself included, in readiness for the game. One can _ never _ be too prepared, especially not for a match with a nationally renowned school like Kaijō, let alone with a member of Kuroko’s five evil exes - erm, the Generation of Miracles.

Kise Ryōta can copy moves unerringly, this much Izuki knows. It’s a dangerous ability, and in turn, Seirin has cooked up simple but effective strategies to stop him. Flashy moves won’t be any good against being held back physically, and though none of them are underestimating their opponents, they also know that they aren’t infallible.

“Right,” Izuki clears his throat, standing up and heading to the front of the bus after everyone has filed into their seats. “We’re playing Kaijō today, in a practice match—”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Tsuchida interjects with a derisive sigh.

Izuki ignores him and continues, “Though this is just a practice match, I expect all of us to give it everything we’ve got. We’ll go in all guns blazing and give them a good fight. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t plan to lose today! So let’s go and show them what we’re made of!”

He ends the speech by punctuating it with a wordless yell, pumping his fist and lifting it high in the air. His teammates look at each other with big grins, then do the same.

Izuki gazes at his team and feels something settle into place, deep inside his heart.

He only wishes that that something wasn’t accompanied by an acute feeling of loss, of longing that a certain someone would be there to share this moment with him. Wishes that he wasn’t imagining that half-smirk half-smile directed at him from the front seat right now.

* * *

“Hey, guys!” Kise’s annoying voice greets them, loud and high and altogether too cheerful for ten o’clock in the morning.

“Kise!” Kagami shouts brusquely, but Kise ignores him, shouldering his way forward. Izuki narrows his eyes at the blond when Kise peers at him, face far too close for his liking.

“Jeez, captain-san. No need to be so crusty,” Kise whines.

Izuki’s eyebrow twitches. “Who the _ hell _ are you calling crusty?” he says darkly, glaring at Kise, who jumps three feet in the air and cringes away, paling.

“Hiee! Your senpai is scary, Kurokocchi!” he cries childishly.

Izuki rolls his eyes and just barely holds back a scoff - Kise Ryōta, under this facade of airheadedness, is cold and cunning and an excellent basketball player. He deserves a smidgen of respect, at least.

Kise moves on quickly, heading straight for Kuroko. There’s a glint in his eyes that Izuki doesn’t quite like, but it’s not like he can say anything about it.

“Kurokocchi!” he starts, pulling the same move on Kuroko as he had on Izuki. Kuroko stares blankly at him before leaning back in a pointed manner.

“Kise-kun,” he says guardedly. “Ever heard of personal space?”

Kise pretends not to have heard Kuroko and blathers on, “I was so sad when you turned down my offer! I've been crying into my pillow every night since! I haven’t even been rejected by a girl before, you know?”

Kuroko places his hands on Kise’s chest and pushes him away gently but firmly. “Kise-kun, please stop being so sarcastic.”

Kise’s sunny and innocent smile changes, shifting ever so slightly to reveal a hint of the cunning underneath. “Well, sure, Kurokocchi. Now I just _ have _ to get to know the guy who’s making you say all these things!”

He turns to Kagami, whose eyes start to shine with a wild light.

“I’m not really that big on fancy titles like ‘The Generation of Miracles’ and such,” Kise says challengingly. “But even I can’t ignore such an obvious challenge. You’ve made me want to crush you with everything I’ve got!”

Kagami’s lip curls up in a feral grin.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he snarls.

* * *

When they enter the court, it is to a scenario that has Izuki’s blood boiling.

Half of the court has been cordoned off with a net. As expected of a national team’s gym, the half has markings to double up as a full court, but behind the nets on the other side, the bench players of Kaijō are running drills and shooting hoops.

“I don’t understand,” Riko says. “Are they actually still practising? This is horrible organisation!”

Izuki isn’t so sure about that - no bigwig name like Kaijō would be so sloppy. No, this is a purposeful insult; Kaijō does not intend to take Seirin seriously in the least bit. With great difficulty, he restrains himself from going right over and socking one of them (perhaps all of them) in the jaw.

An overly large whale of a man, clipboard in hand, is barking orders at the training members of the club. He doesn’t seem likely to stop any time soon, but his head does turn towards the entrance when he hears Seirin stepping in.

The gym goes so quiet you could hear the sound of a pin dropping. Izuki can almost _ feel _ himself and his team being judged by the other players, five of them all dressed up in Kaijō’s fancy blue uniforms and shooting penetrating gazes Seirin’s way.

_ So this is the sort of pressurising environment that a national-level team thrives in… crazy. _

The fat man starts walking in their direction, far faster than Izuki thought he would be able to. He stops, mouth thinning as he surveys the team, eyes lingering on Riko a little longer than necessary.

The urge to punch him in the face wells up inside Izuki once more, and it takes twice the amount of self-control to stop himself than it did the first time. He’s able to swallow his rage and keep his face neutral, but just barely.

“Welcome,” says the fat man in a bored tone, as if he’s rehearsing lines for an exam. “I’m Takeuchi Genta, coach of Kaijō High… you must be Seirin. Where’s your coach?” He looks around, an expression of annoyance pervading his features. “Don’t tell me—”

Riko steps forward, a strained smile on her face.

“I’m the coach,” she says, meeting Takeuchi’s sceptical eyes with her own steely ones.

Izuki rather enjoys the delayed reaction from Kaijō’s coach. The man freezes first, his features icing over like a pond on a cold day. Then his head jerks forward as he does a double take, eyes bugging out of his face. His face purples slowly; it’s all very entertaining to watch. Izuki has to hide a snicker behind his hand.

“Y - you’re not the manager?” Takeuchi shrieks once he’s stopped choking.

“No, I’m not,” Riko says, holding his gaze coolly. “And…”

She jerks her head towards the nets. Takeuchi’s expression changes back to the bored one from earlier, and he sighs.

“Yes. The other players won’t have much to learn from this match, so to save time, we’re having them practice on half the court.”

“I see,” Riko says carefully, the anger in her voice veiled well but easy to spot if you’re looking for it, like Izuki is. “So… will we be playing the second string?”

Takeuchi shakes his head with an amused and prideful smile. “Even if this is just a warm-up, Kaijō has respect for its opponents. You’ll be playing against nothing but our best, our first string… so please don’t shame yourself by letting them triple your score.”

Riko inhales sharply. A muscle feathers in Kagami’s jaw; Koganei’s eyebrows dip into an enraged scowl. Even Kuroko, blank and emotionless as he seems, steams under the surface. Izuki digs his fingertips into his palms, almost drawing blood, to stop himself from shouting out exactly _ what _ he thinks of Kaijō and all their highbrow attitude.

Takeuchi beckons Kise over, turning away and starting to speak quietly. However, in the dead-silent gym, Seirin can still hear their conversation all too clearly.

“You won’t be playing in this game. Even if our school collects aces from all the middle schools, you're on a different level, Kise.”

“Coach, please don’t say things like that...”

“It’s already unfair to them as it is, with our regulars…” Takeuchi glances back at Seirin, who are all staring at him with waves of killing intent radiating off of them. He brushes it off and turns back to Kise, finishing with, “If you play, it won’t even be a game.”

Izuki has to stamp on Kagami’s foot to stop him from running at Takeuchi and strangling the whale of a man, even if he would very much like to do so himself. Luckily for the Kaijō coach, Kise’s already running over with an apologetic look on his face.

“I’m so sorry!” he says frantically, flapping his hands in an effort to assuage Seirin. “I’ll still be on the bench, though…”

Kagami growls in the back of his throat. Kise exhales slowly, a cunning smile starting to blossom on his face.

“Tell you what, if you knock that guy off his pedestal, I’ll probably play!” he says conspiratorially. Then his eyes go cold as he continues, “Sorry if that sounds selfish… but if you can’t even get him to put me in, then you’ve got no right to say that you’ll defeat the Generation of Miracles.”

Kagami is opening his mouth to retort when Takeuchi calls loudly, “Hey, Seirin! I’ll show you the way to the locker room.”

Riko shakes her head. “It’s fine.”

She gestures for the team to file out, and they start moving. As he steps out, Kuroko looks over his shoulder, locking eyes with Kise, and says, “Please get warmed up… you won’t have to wait for long.” The glint in Kise’s eyes at those words is unmissable.

Riko is the last to leave, saying softly as she passes Takeuchi, “It’ll be hard for you to call this a warm-up… I don’t think that your players can afford to hold back.”

* * *

“Let the practice game between Seirin High and Kaijō High begin!”

The teams line up in front of each other, and the captains are requested to shake hands. Kasamatsu, Kaijō’s captain, seems nice, but Izuki feels the arrogance in his gaze and offers his dominant left hand before Kasamatsu can. He’s betting that the third-year is right-handed, and is proven right by the fumble of Kasamatsu raising his right hand before shaking his head and offering the left – _ oh_, that was a good one, he’ll have to write it down later.

Izuki twists the older boy’s hand just a _ little _ bit to the right, enough to induce a small flash of pain. It won’t last, but it _ will _ show him that Seirin isn’t anything to be played with. It isn’t foul play, not really, and who said you couldn’t have a few intimidation tactics every now and then?

He holds on tightly just a second too long, making sure he is the one to release the handshake. A sweet smile then, and a short bow that doesn’t last very long. The slight waver in Kasamatsu’s steely eyes as they both straighten up shows that Izuki’s point has come across, loud and clear.

God, playing captain comes with so much politics. But politics – or screwing with people’s heads, more like – is kind of Izuki’s forte. Hyūga, Kiyoshi… they all carry the same earnest straightforwardness as Kasamatsu. Izuki, however, is a different kind of person, a different kind of _ captain_.

He could never be that honest.

“Seirin,” says the referee, voice high and thin, “we’re starting… please ask your five to line up.”

Huh? Aren’t they - Izuki peers at the end of the line, spotting nothing, and then a flash of familiar powder-blue comes into vision.

_ Oh_.

He can’t help snorting through his nose when the referee jumps three feet in the air at Kuroko’s sudden appearance. The rest of Kaijō’s players look stunned, and the sounds of basketball coming from the other half-court cease immediately to be replaced by hushed whispers of shock.

Izuki ignores it, eyes scanning the court and hoops for anything he can exploit. It’s far smaller than what he’s used to playing on, so there will be less space to manoeuvre. He will have to worry about Kasamatsu, too; as a national-level PG, the third-year must be well-used to playing against slippery people. This is going to be a difficult match.

He glances around at the rest of the team, all wearing calm faces save for Kagami, who’s gnashing his teeth together. The same quiet intensity burns in all of their eyes, a determination to take Kaijō down and show them what happens when you underestimate an eagle.

“Get into position, please,” comes the order from the referee. Both teams comply, each player moving to mark his enemy. Mitobe faces Kobori on the centre line (centers on the centre line, ha), Koganei is against Moriyama, Kagami faces an unfamiliar brown-haired second-year, Kuroko is on an equally unrecognisable bespectacled boy, and Izuki himself faces Kasamatsu.

The whistle blows, the ball is tossed into the air, and the match begins. Izuki has barely any time to think as Kobori tips the basketball towards himself with fluid ease and the Kaijō players make a break for it. Kasamatsu rips free from Izuki quickly, leading the attack; Izuki follows, never one to be beaten. He’s able to keep up with the older point guard, doing his best to mark him, but Kasamatsu evades him well. Izuki tries not to grit his teeth in frustration, instead concentrating his irritation into the game.

_ Focus. What can we use here? _

Kasamatsu has the ball now; Izuki uses Eagle Eye to check the positions of the other players on the court and realises it’s perfect for a steal. All he has to do is time it just right—

He and Kasamatsu blink in unison as the ball disappears from the other point guard’s hand.

_ What— _

But a blue blur is streaking up the court, becoming fully visible only about halfway down.

_ Kuroko! _

Kuroko is noticeably slower than the others, but his advantage of invisibility helps him get away unnoticed. However, the Kaijō player that’s gotten on his tail - Kobori - is catching up and getting into position to steal.

Izuki’s just about to warn Kuroko, to yell at him to pass, when it happens almost too fast for anybody to process.

The ball rockets out of Kuroko’s grip, seeming to leave a trail as it zips across the court straight into Kagami’s hands. With a cry, Kagami pulls away from his brown-haired opponent, grabs the rim of the basket, and dunks with everything he has.

The ball slams into the basket with a sound as sweet as honey, and just like that the first points are Seirin’s.

What is _ not _sweet, however, is the terrible wrenching noise that follows.

Izuki watches with equal parts horror, concern, and amusement as Kagami lands, raising his hand in victory. In his clenched fist is a large oval-shaped ring with a net attached to its lower half and two rivets on one end that are clearly meant to have held it to something.

Kagami seems to realise just then what exactly he’s holding. He looks first at his hand, then at Izuki, then back at his hand as if he can’t believe what he’s done. Izuki just nods, hiding a smirk at Kasamatsu’s bewildered expression.

Koganei, who’s standing right next to him, narrows his eyes and mutters softly, “The hoop looks like it was rusted.”

Izuki frowns, walking up to the hoop and observing the backboard, then the broken object in Kagami’s hand. Koga is right - it _ has _gotten rusty.

“That’s pretty unsafe, isn’t it?” he says, pointing upwards. “Your hoop had rust on it.”

(Hey, he isn’t about to miss a chance to rag on a rich school like Kaijō. His talent for annoying people would get rusty otherwise.

That was a good one!)

“But still!” the brown-haired kid cries in a voice altogether too loud for Izuki’s taste. He winces and hopes that his ears aren’t bleeding.

“What—” Takeuchi croaks. “How—”

“I believe he’s broken the hoop, Coach Takeuchi,” Riko says almost too happily. “We’ll be needing the whole court now, won’t we?”

And so the game begins: for real this time, using the full extent of Kaijō’s resources. That doesn’t just mean they’re using the complete court, though. No, the ace has finally decided to make his entrance, and thus starts the showdown they have all been waiting for.

Kise versus Kagami.

As expected, the Kaijō team immediately races ahead, aided by Kise’s immense skill. But Izuki pushes back instantly, centering the team’s play around Kagami, who is more than ready to retaliate point for point.

“Rookies like you don’t have a chance in hell,” Kasamatsu grits harshly, dribbling the ball. Izuki watches carefully, activating Eagle Eye, and does not move even when the opposing point guard makes a pass by him that should have been an easy steal.

Kasamatsu laughs. “Seriously? You couldn’t even—”

But he cuts himself off as Izuki, without even stopping to look, reaches behind himself and slaps the ball to his right, where Mitobe is ready. Without wasting a second, the center shoots and scores.

“You were saying?” Izuki smiles at Kasamatsu sweetly. “We have a much bigger chance at winning this than you chanced. _ Kitakore_!”

Kasamatsu blinks. Izuki sighs, realising that the pun flew straight over his opponent’s head.

“Never mind. You have to have a sharper mind than that to fight me. _ Kitakore_!”

Kasamatsu clenches his jaw and doesn’t reply. Izuki grins in silent victory.

Kaijō reclaims their lead with a quick three from Moriyama; they are every bit as good as Seirin expected. And so the two teams continue, neck and neck, Kaijō still with a frustrating lead of four. It’s high-paced play the likes of which he never imagined in his wildest dreams, but Izuki’s operating on game mode, barely thinking about the drain in stamina or the fact that he and Seirin can’t keep this up for much longer.

That’s when Kuroko appears at his shoulder and says, “I need a time-out, senpai.”

Izuki swallows his scream - he really should’ve seen that coming - and instead asks the first thing on his mind. “Why?”

“I’m tired.”

That’s what brings Izuki to a halt.

“You’re _ what _now?” he exclaims incredulously.

“Tired. In need of rest; weary,” Kuroko says flatly.

“I wasn’t asking for the dictionary definition! Why do you even know that off the top of your head?”

Kuroko shrugs. Izuki knows he isn’t going to get anywhere with the kid, so he just turns to Riko, mouthing widely, _ We need a time-out. _

She cocks her head in confusion; he splays his hands and scrunches his face into the universal _ ‘just, please’ _look. A sigh and a roll of brown eyes comes, as expected, but she relents, calling for the time-out.

“So what the hell was that all about?” Riko asks when he gets to the bench. Izuki shakes his head and thumbs towards Kuroko, who has flopped down and is wiping his face busily. She arches an eyebrow but marches over nevertheless, looming over the boy despite being much shorter than he is.

“Do you want to explain for what good reason you requested a time-out?” she asks severely. To his credit, Kuroko flinches for just a second before regaining his usual poker face.

“I can’t last for more than three quarters,” he explains.

Izuki and Riko freeze simultaneously. Then they scream out in unison, “You _ what_?!”

Riko starts shaking Kuroko harshly - Izuki’s half afraid that she will shake out all the bones in his body, but the other half of him viciously points out that the kid sort of deserves it.

“Why! Didn’t! You! Tell! Us! Earlier?!” she shouts, punctuating every word with one shake.

Kuroko is rapidly paling, but he manages to whisper, “You… didn’t ask…”

Riko’s face ices over; Izuki’s scared that she might just strangle him right there and runs over, pulling the irate girl away. There’s visible fury rising off her in waves - Izuki would_ not _want to play around with her right now.

“Okay,” he says out loud to divert her attention, gesturing to the others. “Why don’t we come up with a strategy to beat Kaijō? If Kuroko’s not able to last, we need a plan.”

Kuroko looks relieved. Izuki turns the full force of his glare on him - don’t get him wrong, he’s equally pissed at his junior - and continues, “We should each mark the opponent who plays our own position. Kagami, we’ll have to entrust Kise to you and Kuroko - that leaves one of us to combat two of them. Mitobe, can you take care of Kobori and Hayakawa both, or will it be too hard?”

Mitobe shakes his head and flashes a thumbs-up at him. Izuki grins; the light in his silent teammate’s eyes is a clear indicator of just how ready Mitobe is for this challenge.

“Does that make sense, Coach?” he asks, looking over to Riko for confirmation. She nods, tapping her chin.

“The way I see this game going, we need to conserve Kuroko-kun’s Misdirection,” she observes. “So we’ll let them pull ahead and narrow the gap in the third and fourth quarters. They won’t use Kise at his full strength if we allow a bit of leeway, so they won’t be too far in front of us.”

Izuki nods. “Right. That means we rest him for the remainder of the second quarter.”

“Yes. Now get back out there; we’re going to win this game!” she orders.

“Yeah!” shout the Seirin boys, and they head onto the court once more.

* * *

Izuki marks Kasamatsu, jibing at him gently every now and then and enjoying how the other point guard gets riled up so easily. Just because they’re not defending with full strength doesn’t mean that Izuki won’t play his mental game, and it looks like he’s succeeding because Kasamatsu fumbles twice (one of those isn’t even a result of a comment he made!). It’s an opportunity he doesn’t hesitate to take, scoring a few points for Seirin.

However, Kaijō’s still powerful, and they’re quick to put a gap between themselves and their opponents. It’s not much, considering the weapon Seirin has up its sleeve, but it’d be difficult if they didn’t. Izuki finds himself in awe of the Kaijō players’ technical skill and ball-handling, and has to blink a few times to stop being so distracted: it nearly costs him a good steal. Only nearly, though - simply because Kuroko and Kagami aren’t on the court doesn’t mean that Seirin is helpless.

This _ is _ the team that made it all the way to the final round of the Inter-High prelims in only its first year, after all.

By half-time, Kaijō has only managed to pull ahead by eight points. It’s largely their own laxness with regards to Izuki and the others, but also due to Seirin’s defence, which, though not watertight, is strong enough to rebuff even a national-level team.

The second half commences quickly, and Kuroko’s back in play. Being the wild card that he is, even after using him in the first quarter, Seirin’s able to grasp fully onto the advantage that he gives them. They claw back up the ladder, cutting the eight-point lead to six with seven minutes to go in the fourth quarter. Even Kise cannot do anything against Kuroko - in fact, it is _ because _ he’s Kise that he cannot do anything against Kuroko. Kise can copy anything that he sees, but Kuroko is all about _ not _being seen. About subtlety and finesse, the things that Kise’s arrogance will never be able to understand.

Izuki watches avidly as Kise zips down the court only to be faced with the determined Kuroko. However, lacking in speed, Kuroko is easily passed; Izuki is just about to move when Kise is stalled by Kagami.

Kuroko takes the chance immediately, lunging backwards and tapping Kise's ball out of reach. Mitobe darts for the ball, pushing it into play, and with a quick two from Koga, Seirin scores the point they’ve been lacking to tie the score. Izuki grins toothily at Kasamatsu, who clenches his jaw and looks away pointedly.

A few moments later, the teams are still neck and neck. Kagami’s blossoming like a flower, keeping up with Kise and matching him point for point. With Kuroko’s help, he’s near unstoppable.

That’s when it happens.

Kise’s going for a simple overhead shot, having bypassed his mark Kuroko; but Kagami’s already jumping for the block. It’s clear that it’ll be an exercise in futility to shoot now, so Kise pulls away, yanking the ball towards his left hip.

The problem is that he’s forgotten who’s there.

His elbow connects with a blue head, and Kuroko falls over from the impact of Kise’s full body weight concentrated into one bony part. Kise’s face pales, and he drops the ball, kneeling next to Kuroko and starting to blabber incoherently while frantically patting Kuroko’s hair. Izuki rushes to his fallen teammate, shoving Kise aside none too gently, and lifts the messy locks to look properly at where he got hit.

“There’s blood,” he informs his team clinically. “Let’s get him to the bench.”

“I can… still play…” Kuroko says woozily as he helps him up. Izuki snorts.

“How about you be able to stand first?” he comments with no real bite, half-carrying the boy to the bench where Riko waits with a first-aid kit. She looks worried, taking Kuroko in her arms immediately and beginning to help the Kaijō school doctor dress and nurse the wound. Izuki shakes his head, dismissing all worry, and signals for Tsuchida to get on the court. They held up without Kuroko once before; they can do so again.

“Defence!” he calls out, Mitobe and Tsuchida turning in response. “Let’s get it solid! Offence, you’re with me!”

“Yeah!” chorus the others, even Kagami surprisingly compliant. Kuroko’s injury must have shaken him a little more than anyone expected.

Seirin plays with its full power this time, all of them deep in the flow of the game, and Kagami’s almost levelling with Kise even without Kuroko’s help. However, the Miracle is just that little bit better, holding his invisible edge high over Kagami’s head. Izuki grits his teeth and looks over at the bench, hoping guiltily that Kuroko will be able to come back in the game. Then he blinks a few times, hoping he’d better not be seeing what he thinks he is.

But indeed, that’s Kuroko, waving at Tsuchida to take his place on the court. The blue-haired boy walks casually onto the hardwood, answering Izuki’s raised eyebrow with, “I have to defeat Kise-kun.”

“_ We _ have to defeat Kise,” corrects Koganei absently, already adjusted to Kuroko’s return. He doesn’t notice the awed, happy stare that Kuroko directs at him, or the whispered, “That’s right. _We.”_

With Kuroko back in the game and using his Misdirection to its full potential, Seirin once again closes in on Kaijō, who have raced fifteen points ahead. However, it’s still a fine line between victory and defeat, with Kise exercising full power against Kagami and Kuroko. The rest of the team is on fire too; it’s all Seirin can do to stall them and score on their own. Izuki is finally starting to feel the drain in stamina when, with a two from Koga, they level the points at 71 - all.

Then Kasamatsu gets the ball with milliseconds left, and all hell breaks loose as he goes for a shot.

It’s a rushed blur of events that plays out. Kagami’s there all of a sudden, flicking the ball away from the goal, and then he’s running for a fast break, accompanied by Kuroko. Kise’s waiting for them in the defence zone, hands outstretched for the ball - and his fingertips barely brush it as Kagami goes for the shot, well beyond the three-point line.

He jumps to block. Kagami’s wrists turn right, and he passes. Then he runs forward and jumps even as Kise’s still falling.

The ball reaches Kagami’s hands in mid-air, and he plunges it into the basket like he’s known all along that it will get to him at the right moment.

It’s one of the most perfect alley-oops Izuki’s ever seen.

The ref blows her whistle, yelling, “73 - 71, _ Seirin High wins_!”

* * *

It turns out Kasamatsu isn’t all that bad - he just needed to be knocked off of his pedestal a bit. He exchanges a pleasant conversation with Izuki, wishing him well for future matches and promising that when they meet in an official game, they’ll make sure to show Seirin what Kaijō really is made of.

“We won’t underestimate you guys again,” he says.

“There’s our element of surprise gone,” Izuki says jokingly.

The rest of the team has also made fast friends with Seirin. Kobori seems to understand Mitobe rather well, and an enthusiastic conversation is occurring between Koganei and Moriyama, ranging from their respective shooting forms (both admiring how ugly the other’s is) to girls. On the sidelines, Izuki catches Kise apologising to Kuroko with tears in his eyes; and genuine tears too, not the crocodile tears that he’s shown he knows so well to shed. In the end, Seirin leaves Kaijō with joy and pride in their hearts… and without two of their new team members.

Riko has a minor panic attack when she notices that Kagami and Kuroko are missing. It takes some effort to calm her down, but Izuki thinks he does a good enough job of it. Well, he managed to make the bulging neck vein less bulgy - that’s a big win.

It’s worth it, because there’s a little spring in Kuroko’s step when he returns (from talking to Kise after the match, apparently), Kagami having accompanied him. There are scuffs on both their shoes, showing that they’ve been playing basketball even after this strenuous game, but Izuki can’t bring himself to scold them for the sudden disappearance; Kuroko’s eyes are too happy for it. He settles for nearly crushing the little shadow under his arm and promising to treat him to a milkshake later.

Then everyone else starts requesting a treat, too, and because all of them - including him - are broke, he’s forced to find a good _ and _cheap place to feed them. That’s when Riko spots an offer for steak: either to eat a full four-kilogram one in thirty minutes and go without paying, or to pay 10,000¥ for it.

The evil look on her face is _ so _not worth it, but Izuki takes her up on it anyway.

None of them are, predictably, able to finish. But there are two highlights: one, Izuki makes a steak pun – his best today! – and two, Kagami has a stomach the size of a garbage disposal, which automatically means that he becomes the rest of their garbage disposal for what’s left over. It’s disgustingly fascinating to watch him shovel bite after bite into his mouth at the speed of light; well, at least he has some semblance of table manners. Izuki sits back, groaning softly at how heavy he feels, and smiles as he watches the team cheerfully interact.

_ They really are amazing. Kiyoshi will be so happy when he returns. _

Again, he ignores the shallow pit of unease in his stomach that tells him the team is incomplete and swallows his water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments make a blob happy~


	3. crash landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Repost: 14.08.20  
chapter song: [Castle of Glass](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-He6EzP5zY) by Linkin Park! I feel like the soft tone of the song really reflects the chapter haha

All too soon, it’s time for the Inter-High. Of course, Seirin will be participating; they will settle for nothing but a resounding win this go-round, after last year’s knockout.

“Our first match is on May 16th,” says Riko at the next practice, casting Izuki a sympathetic glance.

“Ah,” he responds, voice strangled and mouth dry. “About a month from now, huh?”

_ Your birthday. Our first match is on your birthday. _

Riko nods. “We’re playing Shinkyō - their ace is pretty dangerous. He’s recently transferred from Senegal, his name is Papa Mbaye Siki, and he’s six foot seven.”

“_Six foot seven_?!” exclaims the rest of Seirin, save for Izuki, who is still lost in thought.

“His name is too long,” complains Koga.

“One of you give him a nickname,” orders Riko. “Izuki-kun?”

Izuki swallows once, bringing himself back to the present.

_ You don’t have time for that now. _

“Yeah, sorry,” he says a little weakly. “Zoned out for a second there.”

Riko dismisses him with a wave. “It’s fine. Kuroko-kun, a nickname for him?”

Her tone is harsh, but her eyes are understanding. And in them, Izuki finds more kinship than he ever expected to see.

They settle on ‘Dad’ as a name for the African player, and Izuki’s pun for once has even Riko giggling. Laughing with his team almost makes him forget the other occasion on May 16th.

Almost.

As he’s walking home, his favourite bookstore catches his eye. They always have the cards with the most puns, and Izuki always buys one on the 15th of May. (He’d make one, but his artistic ability is better off not spoken about.)

He squeezes his eyes shut and speed-walks past the store, ignoring every fibre in his body that’s screaming at him to go inside.

Over the next few days, Izuki throws himself into training. He works himself to the bone, barely stopping to eat or drink. Riko gives him a few concerned looks, but she doesn’t say anything.

Izuki tells himself that the circle on his calendar surrounding the 16th of May is solely for the match. It doesn’t do anything for the pit in the bottom of his stomach.

* * *

The day of the match dawns upon Seirin far quicker than he would have liked. The date leaves a bitter taste in Izuki’s mouth, and he can’t help a glance at his drawer, the card that he never bought weighing heavily on his mind.

He shakes his head. Now isn’t the time for this - they’ve got a match today.

His phone buzzes, and when he looks at the notification, it’s a picture of a brown-haired and grey-eyed boy smiling, captioned ‘Birthday!!’. Izuki dismisses the alert, grabs his bag, slips on his jacket, and heads out, trying not to think about everything.

He succeeds, mostly.

They defeat Shinkyō with ease. The tall African, Papa, turns out to be mostly talk, though his height _ is _ advantageous.

But Koganei hasn’t practised and practised for nothing. They’ve got a real shooting guard now, and even if his form is unorthodox - in fact, partly _ because _his form is unorthodox - he’s a damn good one.

The court is familiar ground to Izuki, and he guides his team with a gentle hand, making plays that will suit Kagami’s style, augmenting Kuroko’s passing ability with a touch of his own speed. Just enough to coordinate their movements.

Not control, though; never control. He’d seen how well that’d worked for Hyūga in their last middle school match.

_ If I’d only helped more— _

He cuts off the thought right there and focuses back on the game.

Izuki synchronises his plays to his team and doesn’t have to pray it will work because they’re working around him, now, in the crucial last minutes of the third quarter. He passes a few snarky, pun-laden comments and gives a few cold smiles to the opposition, and they start to crumble.

His role is done; he’s laid the groundwork for victory. It’s up to Kagami and Kuroko to secure the win, and they deliver fearlessly.

As the rest of the team celebrates, Izuki bites his tongue and tries not to think about the birthday card he never bought, or the person it should’ve been addressed to. He tries not to think about the alert he’d dismissed that morning. He tries not to think about the fact that, for once, he hadn’t known what to say to _ him_. He tries not to think about the date and exercises all his willpower to keep from looking at the stands or searching for glasses and grey eyes. And most of all, he tries not to pull out his phone and dial that number that’s more familiar to him than his own mother’s.

* * *

They fight Seihō next. Izuki’s heart stings with the humiliation of last year’s loss, but he doesn’t comment on it even as the other school’s shaved first-year, Tsugawa, continues to try and rile them up over it.

The game starts, producing immediate tension. The players are evenly matched, with each position facing off against the other. Tsugawa is a piece of work, really, but Izuki puts Mitobe on him, and the silent center does what he’s best at – he fights defence with defence.

That was a good one!

Mitobe is the perfect guard for Tsugawa. He won’t respond to the abrasive youth’s comments, unlike Kagami, who gets all fired up. But Seihō’s still strong, Kasuga especially so. His movements are quick and abrupt, and Izuki finds himself struggling a little to keep up.

Then his eyes fall to Kasuga’s feet, and he realises how to strike.

The next time the other tries to pass him, Izuki is faster. He moves with Kasuga, smacking the ball out of his hands and shooting a quick pass to the seemingly empty part of the court. Kuroko comes through, slamming the ball to Kagami, who scores.

56 – 55, in favour of Seirin.

Maybe they _ do _ have a chance in hell of winning this match.

* * *

Kagami blooms like a forest fire as the match progresses. He’s everywhere, darting, dodging, dunking; truly a powerhouse. The rest of the team are side-pieces to Kagami’s brilliance, but Izuki doesn’t care about that. Instead, he rearranges and reorganises their style of play nearly five times even as he runs around the court, finding the perfect one tailored to Kagami’s current flow. To their credit, no one complains, simply goes with what their captain is doing.

That’s when Izuki hits upon it – run-and-gun. The style they used last year, put out of the question after Kiyoshi’s injury. They haven’t focused much on it this year, but perhaps…?

He looks to Riko, who nods and calls a time-out. With under two minutes left, it seems like a move of desperation.

That’s exactly how Izuki wants it to look. That’s how they’ll get Seihō: by making them think Seirin is dying… and showing exactly how dead they are.

He can’t help a bit of a dark smirk. This is a lot more fun than he thought it’d be. Wow, he’s really turning into a sadist, huh?

* * *

“Run-and-gun?” Riko looks doubtful when he suggests it.

“I believe that it’s our best course of action right now. Kagami is in a really good place, so if we can up the ante to match him, it’d be amazing. And Kuroko has to be able to keep up as well,” Izuki says, turning to Kuroko. “Do you think you can?” he adds.

“I will do my best. Don’t worry about me, senpai,” is the firm reply.

Izuki nods back. “Perfect, then. Mitobe, Koga, do you guys think you can pull it off again? We haven’t practised it in a while.”

“Hold up,” Kagami starts, “you’re doing a technique you _ haven’t practised_?!”

“You got a problem with that? You know, considering I _ am _ orienting this completely around you?” Izuki asks with a mild glare.

“No, sir,” Kagami says meekly, swallowing.

Izuki grins. “Excellent. Now, let’s go, we’re wasting time!”

* * *

Seirin does a quick huddle and a team cheer, and then they’re back on the court. The ball drops, and Izuki runs for it like lightning. There are wings on his legs, and he skids across the court in his haste to snatch it up before an opposing player does. Grabbing it in his hands, Izuki tosses it to his left without a second thought and starts running again. Then the ball is back in his hands, coming from the right, and he’s halfway across the court. Mitobe comes up across from him, and he passes.

Tsugawa stands in front of him, and he blocks quickly, turning them around with some footwork so Tsugawa’s back is to the hoop and he has no choice but to guard Izuki. As he watches, Mitobe and Kuroko volley the ball between them all over the court.

Izuki notices Tsugawa about to break free and decides to distract him a little more with a whispered, “I heard you had the hots for two of your senpai at the same time.”

He watches in satisfaction as the younger boy stumbles. It’s a hit below the belt and he knows it; but there has to be a bit of truth in the words, as evidenced by the way Tsugawa looks at Kasuga and Iwamura. Of course it’s just hero worship, but a little dirty talk never hurt anyone.

Izuki’s eyes catch Mitobe’s.

_ Thirty seconds to go. _

Mitobe nods and catches the ball that comes his way – but this time he runs.

The ball will go from Mitobe to Koga, then to Kagami, then Kuroko, and back to Koga. Izuki can already see it happening in his mind’s eye – there are three defenders near the hoop, where Kagami’s strong point lies. And Kagami isn’t stupid; he’ll feint a dunk, then flick the ball to Kuroko, lying in wait. The ball will then go to Koga, who has the best chance of scoring right now. All he has to do is make sure Tsugawa doesn’t break away.

And it happens, just how he predicts it.

Mitobe passes to Koganei, who doesn’t waste a second as he throws it to Kagami like a hot potato. Kagami goes in for the dunk, and all three blockers jump. He twists at the last second and drops the ball – or not.

The ball skyrockets back towards Koganei, who assumes his unorthodox form and shoots. Tsugawa breaks away somehow from Izuki’s fast reactions and underhanded comments, but he’s too late. The ball makes the basket just as Iwamura’s legs hit the ground.

73 – 71.

The whistle blows, and then it’s over. Seirin High has officially beaten one of the Three Kings of Tokyo.

* * *

The next team they’re playing is Shūtoku. Two matches against two powerhouses in the same day… but Seirin, Izuki quickly reminds himself, is growing to be a powerhouse in its own right. They’ve just got to keep that flow.

“We’re playing my daikon ex next,” Kuroko informs Izuki with a ghost of a smile. “Well, carrot ex now.”

“You must eat up all your carrots today, Kuroko-kun,” Izuki warns him jokingly, and Kuroko laughs. The rest of the team stares at them uncomprehendingly.

Izuki sighs. “It’s a long story.”

Tsuchida shakes his head in resignation to Izuki’s strange habits. “I don’t want to know.”

Fukuda and Kawahara nod nervously in agreement.

Furihata has an excited gleam in his eyes. “I do!”

“You do? You’re the cutest, Furi-kun!” Izuki ruffles his hair happily.

Kuroko pouts. “What about me?”

“You too, Kuroko,” Izuki promises affectionately. “But you’ll have to undergo a head pat as well.”

“I just dislike being patted by the eggplant ex,” Kuroko explains and happily accepts the head pats.

* * *

The game begins without much pomp and show. Sure, Kagami just has to be Kagami and go write his name and number on Midorima’s hand (Izuki would commend the move in any other situation, but those things have to be kept off the court), but the Shūtoku team doesn’t loom over them like Kaijō did. They don’t possess the same conceit that Kaijō did: this is more an assured confidence, the sort that Izuki would want to have one day. None of them seem to think they’re better than their opponents.

None of them but Midorima, that is. As they get into the flow of the game, the giant vegetable, Izuki realises with irritation, is a stuck-up, arrogant prig.

A stuck-up, arrogant, _ talented _ prig, but _ whatever_. He can be handled as long as they have Kagami on him, and Koga returns every shot with his strange form that’s a mix of Ray Allen’s and his own weird quirks. It works, though, because the opponents are completely bamboozled by this rhythmless, graceless shooting style.

But the rest of Shūtoku is no slouch, either. Kimura is powerful, and they need Mitobe on him; but Ōtsubo is too, and they need Koga free, and Kuroko will have some trouble handling him.

Izuki would, but he’s got his own hands full with Takao Kazunari. Don’t even get him started. The kid reminds him of… well… _ him_. He smiles when Takao passes him with sublime ease, though, because he knows how to deal with himself.

And if ‘himself’ is standing on a basketball court, well, doesn’t that just make things even easier?

Takao is a difficult opponent. He’s fast, barely a hair slower than Izuki. His Eye is stronger as well. He’s not going to be easy to beat.

But then, Izuki is not easy to beat, either. He’s got the speed advantage – however little – and the reaction time advantage, and he’s got a team whose ace _ isn’t _ self-centred. Honestly, that’s the greatest weakness of any team with a Miracle in it. They’ll orient themselves completely around their ace, so if the ace fails, the team fails.

Seirin never had an ace until now, and even when orienting themselves around Kagami, they still use their individual abilities, so they don’t know how to fail like that.

And hopefully, they never will.

* * *

Of course Shūtoku watched their previous match. That doesn’t mean run-and-gun won’t work against them… a spear can still stab you even if you know it’s coming.

Takao is the one to watch out for here. He’ll try to mark Kuroko, so Izuki has to take care of him. That Hawk Eye can watch the whole court at once - it can be dangerous, and Izuki won’t allow anyone else to be endangered like that.

"Your vision is quite sharp, Takao-kun. Have you been eating your carrots properly?" he inquires cheerfully, with a sly glance thrown Midorima's way.

It works. Takao turns bright pink, distracted for a split second, and that's when Kuroko takes his chance. The pass lands in Izuki's hands like it was made for him.

He doesn't hesitate to shoot. The ball barely even touches the rim of the basket as it falls through it. The perfectly tailored shot.

Ah, he's taught his _ kouhai _ well.

* * *

Halfway through the second quarter, Izuki discovers something annoying.

Midorima gets better as the game goes on, apparently. His half-court shots have lengthened to perfect full-court baskets, arcing so high through the air that not even a skyscraper could reach them, landing in the net without touching the rim. It pulls Shūtoku ahead almost too far out of reach—

But unfortunately for him, Kuroko has a couple of aces up his sleeve, too.

Such as that _ wild as hell _cross-court pass.

It works a few times, smoothing out the score a little to 50 - 57 (still in Shūtoku's favour, but it's a gap they_ can _ and _ will _ narrow). That’s when Kagami starts bullshitting about ‘playing alone’ - thankfully Kuroko sets him straight.

But then the shadow starts to tire. And Izuki_ still _ hasn't figured out Midorima's weakness.

_ I'll have to mark him; but first, we need to even the playing field. _

Riko calls a time-out again. She and Izuki rearrange the entire order of play once more, but this time focusing on Koganei. Getting those threes to catch up is more important than anything right now. He instructs even Kagami to pass instead of dunking. The redhead doesn't complain; Kuroko’s scolding has made sure he knows it's what they need to win.

One cheer and they're back on the court for the last two minutes of the second quarter. Then Seirin starts running.

Izuki comes up from behind Takao; he knows he's been seen, but he also knows that that minuscule speed advantage he's got will help him here.

And it does, as he flicks the ball out of Takao's hands and starts to run again.

The ball flies to Kagami, who goes in for the dunk and passes at the last second. It lands in Koga's hands, and he makes the shot, the ball swishing around in the net before it drops down fully.

Three more insanely stupid shots that somehow work come in quick succession. Then the score evens out a bit more, 62 - 57 in favour of Seirin, and Izuki decides he rather likes the look of shock on Takao's face. Clearly, he didn't expect Izuki with his low-level eye to be able to pass himself, who can see the whole court.

He can't help but send a sweet smile with a razor edge in Takao's direction - a warning that the eagle may be older and slower, but still wiser than the hawk.

And the hawk would do well to remember that.

* * *

The crowd that was hooting for Midorima to destroy Seirin has completely shut up ever since the eagles reared their heads and returned fire, equally powerful. Izuki and Takao play a back-and-forth game, stealing from each other near constantly – though Takao makes more steals from him, Izuki always gets them back from another of his teammates. Their teams score consecutively, basket after basket after basket. The fast pace is starting to weigh a little on Izuki’s mind, and by the looks of it, on Takao’s, too. But it’s just a matter of who breaks first. And Izuki is nothing if not a master of the dull art of repetition.

Takao’s last pass is more laborious than the rest – the pace is taking a toll on him. It arcs out of his hands too slowly, like a gift landing in Seirin’s lap.

Izuki darts forwards, the weight on his mind suddenly a comfortable pressure - an environment he doesn’t just survive, but flourishes in. He steals the ball with ease, passing to Mitobe, who scores quickly. They exchange grins, and Izuki derives a special pleasure in watching Takao gnash his teeth together.

However, Seirin is nowhere near done yet. They still have to deal with Midorima, who is back in full force; he's everywhere, and his teammates only pass to him. He's making those ridiculous full-court shots constantly, and he doesn't seem to be tiring even the faintest bit. That is a can of worms that only Kagami can open, but even their ace is having difficulty stopping Midorima.

However, one _cannot_ manage crazy shots like that throughout the game. It's impossible; the basketball will start weighing on your arms. It's_ heavy_. And sure enough, halfway through the third quarter, Izuki sees Midorima falter as he jumps and takes the shot. His wrists arch back elegantly, as they usually do, but this time it's a labour to pull them up and complete the release.

Kagami's fingers graze the ball. It spins around the rim of the basket before toppling in, yes, but it's a deviation from those perfect shots nevertheless.

It gives Seirin a little more hope of stopping Shūtoku.

* * *

_ "At the end of the fourth quarter, we'll mark them one-on-one. They'll pass the ball to and from each other, trying to get it to Midorima. We _ ** _do not intercede_ ** _ ; let the ball go to Midorima, whom Kagami will be marking. Make sure to stop every shot that you can, and signal when you can't jump anymore." _

Well, Riko definitely has an eye for the game.

Thirty seconds left in the fourth quarter, and Kagami is nearly drained. His jumping ability is at its limits, and he's about to collapse.

He's stopped three of Midorima's shots. Izuki doesn't know if he can stop a fourth. And if Midorima nets that fourth, Seirin is _ done four_.

That was a good one!

He notices Kagami's legs shake and signals to Kuroko for the switch. Kuroko nods and marks Miyaji, forcing Mitobe to shift to Kimura. Koganei takes on Takao, and Kagami, realising what's going on, shifts his mark to Ōtsubo. Izuki meets Midorima head on; he’s eight inches shorter than the carrot, but does his best to come off as more intimidating.

Shūtoku have been playing 'pass the ball', quickly tossing to each other in an effort to get the ball to Midorima. Their ace just gets rebuffed each time, and you can start to see them losing confidence.

That's exactly what Riko wanted.

_ Ten seconds. _

Izuki waits with bated breath for the ball to reach Midorima, Shūtoku trying to take advantage of the change of marks.

_ Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. _

Izuki won't be fooled by that.

The ball moves towards Midorima almost in slow motion.

_ Five. Four. Three. Two. _

It touches his hands - but Izuki reacts faster, slapping the ball away with all his might. And it is enough.

The whistle blows.

82 - 81, in Seirin's favour.

_ They've won. _

* * *

As Izuki walks off the court, he looks for flashing glasses and grey eyes.

He curses himself for the heavy sadness that falls over him like a blanket when he doesn’t spot them.

* * *

Okonomiyaki is the unanimous choice of celebratory food – they _have_ just won the Inter-High prelims. They stop at a little diner along the way back, and Izuki decides that everyone will pay for themselves.

He’s seen how much Kagami can eat. He isn’t ready to deliver such a huge blow to his wallet. And judging by the quick agreement from everybody else, they aren’t either.

They run into Midorima and Takao there, Midorima being a stuck-up ass like always and Takao being a sassy little shit. Kise shows up with his captain Kasamatsu as well, and Midorima ends up sitting at a table with Kise, Kagami, and Kuroko. The rest share a long table, Izuki sandwiched between Kasamatsu and Takao – who are both actually pretty nice, he must admit. Kasamatsu especially is a complete mother hen, punching Izuki’s shoulder when he only takes two slices and forcing him to eat so much he nearly pukes. Takao, meanwhile, exchanges puns with Izuki and explains his own Eye.

“Hawk Eye allows me to observe everything at once. But I can rarely focus,” he tells Izuki, who nods. “Eagle Eye’s narrower field of vision helps you control _everything_ in that field, right?”

Izuki shakes his head. “Being a PG isn’t about control. It’s about _coordinating _it. Think of it as an orchestra.”

Kasamatsu hums in agreement and chips in, “You both have better vision, but those of us without the vision have better focus. You’re so assured in your sight that you forget to look at what’s going on in the court in real time. You miss small details while looking at the larger picture.”

Izuki raises his eyebrows. “Is that where all that confidence came from during that practice match?”

_ Interesting, though. It’s pretty cool to know how a national-level PG would think about beating another PG who has a special vision ability. Definitely going to take that on board. _

Kasamatsu pins him with a stare. “You’re a second-year from a no-name school. Of _course_ I didn’t take you seriously. Although,” he admits, blanching, “that was a mistake – you’re _ scary_. You really screwed with my mind, man.”

Takao groans, turning pink and dropping his face into his hands. “_Same_. I swear, before the match, I was totally straight, and now because of this guy,”—he jerks a thumb at Izuki in frustration—“I can’t stop thinking about Shin-chan!”

Izuki shrugs, smiling. “Kind of the point, Takao-kun. Although, questioning is always good. You never know, you may not be as hetero as you think. Also, is that a carrot on your okonomiyaki?”

It is. Takao squawks and picks the carrot off, tossing it to the side.

Izuki laughs. “That’s what you call ‘fate’. You’re destined to eat carrots. See, there’s another one.”

Takao blushes harder and picks that one off too. “I want to be a normal heterosexual man!”

“It’s impossible to be a straight point guard, Takao-kun. A point has only one dimension, after all.”

Takao sweat-drops. “That was _bad_.”

Kasamatsu just tilts his head to the side adorably (yes, Izuki will admit he’s adorable) and asks, “What was?”

“Uh. My pun?” Izuki asks, himself confused now.

“What pun?”

This time it’s Izuki’s turn to sweat-drop.

Soon enough, Takao – now dubbed Kazu by the other two – and Koganei get into a food-flipping contest, which Izuki knows is bound to be disastrous. And his prediction doesn’t fail to come true.

Takao’s fork flicks up just a _l__ittle_ too far, and the okonomiyaki lands smack-bang on Midorima’s head – still somehow having retained its shape.

The Shūtoku duo is off quickly after that, Takao spewing five hundred apologies a minute, his gaze lingering a little too long on Midorima’s lips. Izuki can’t restrain a laugh, and Kasamatsu (nicknamed Yukio-senpai by his two underclassmen) makes him swear to tease Takao about it – once he explained the whole carrot Midorima deal to the older point guard, Kasamatsu was completely on board with ragging Takao. He and Izuki even save Takao’s phone number as ‘Carrot Eater’.

Then Kasamatsu and Kise leave too, citing lateness as their reason, and Izuki realises it’s nine.

“We have to leave, too!” he exclaims. “Come on, guys, we’ve got to get good rest to practise tomorrow!”

They all pay their bills and leave, and Izuki’s making sure everyone’s there when he spots Kuroko, off to the side, hunched over a box.

“What’s that, Kuroko?” he calls.

Kuroko picks up the box and ambles over. “I found him all alone,” he says softly. “Someone abandoned him.”

Izuki and the rest peer into it, and he swears his heart is going to melt because it’s a little puppy. The _cutest_ little shit ever, with a fluffy coat and a really pitiful bark. He can’t help but put his hand inside and start petting its coat gently, murmuring, “Good boy! Good boy!” The little thing reminds him of the waif his dog Sakura used to be, back when they’d just lifted her off the streets.

The big blue eyes stare into Izuki’s own grey ones, and they’re… eerily _familiar_.

Riko grabs the puppy, inspects him. Looks back up at Kuroko, then at the puppy, then back at Kuroko.

“They have the same eyes,” she declares in a haunted voice. Izuki does a double take when he realises that she’s right.

But who’s going to keep the dog? They can’t leave it here for goodness’ sakes. Koganei’s allergic, Mitobe couldn’t possibly with his huge family, Tsuchida isn’t an animal person, god knows what Riko would do to it, he doesn’t trust the other first-years to hold a cushion without breaking it out of nervousness, and his mom will_ kill_ him if he brings home another stray. Bringing it down to Kuroko or Kagami – who’s cowering in a corner.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t handle dogs,” he says, face green.

Izuki sighs, putting his hands on his hips. That leaves Kuroko, then.

“You’re keeping him,” he orders.

Kuroko shrugs. “I was going to anyway. He’s cute.”

“What’ll you name him?” Koga wonders, keeping a safe distance.

“I know!” Riko’s eyes flash with excitement. “Tetsuya #2! Tetsuya Nigou!”

The real Tetsuya smiles.

“Nigou,” he ponders. “It fits.”

* * *

Kuroko skips a little as they walk home. Izuki moves closer to him and asks, “What’s got you in such a good mood? Is it the win, or your new pet?”

Kuroko shakes his blue head. “Midorima-kun apologised after the match,” he says happily.

“Midorima what?”

“Midorima-kun said he was sorry that he forgot what basketball really meant. He said that he wished me the best of luck to teach our other teammates that, and that he still didn’t like me but what I was doing was admirable,” Kuroko explains, eyes sparkling.

Izuki smiles. “Huh. That’s quite something.”

Kuroko shakes his head again. “Midorima-kun is a lot kinder than what most people give him credit for,” he says. “And a lot more hardworking. He was the only one who never stopped practising. It’s in his nature to care for everyone but try to hide it under a mask of coldness.”

“Which generally doesn’t work, I suppose,” Izuki completes, amused. Now that Kuroko mentioned it, Takao’s jacket_ had _seemed a bit big for him, and Midorima was missing his own jacket – and it was cold out, too.

Could it be that Takao had been wearing Midorima’s jacket?

That is… well, it’s something. Certainly something only someone like Kiyoshi would do. Izuki finds himself re-evaluating his opinion of the green-haired boy all the way home.

Maybe not all the Miracles are as bad as they seem.

* * *

The bracket for the Inter-High second round arrives the next day. Seirin is up against Tōō Academy, one of the top schools in the region.

And, judging by Kuroko’s blanched face when he hears the name, the school of one of his exes.

Riko knows a Miracle goes to Tōō, but she doesn’t know who. Some research helps Izuki and her to figure out it’s Aomine Daiki – super ace and power forward of Teikō – who plays for Tōō.

Kagami shows up to practice one day, and his legs are ruined worse than before. Riko gives him a good dressing down, and then she asks, “But who could ruin _ your _ legs like that?”

“Aomine,” says Kagami wearily. “He’s a fucking monster.”

And he’s right: Aomine is _ insanely _strong. Izuki watches a few videos of Teikō’s games, and for the first time in this tournament, doubt creeps into his mind.

But he has a motto – when in doubt, call Kiyoshi Teppei.

“Shun?” Kiyoshi’s voice is warm as always, but a little confused. Izuki rarely deviates from their weekly call schedule (10pm on Saturdays).

“I, uh…” Izuki says, trailing off as Aomine’s crazy play style starts dancing in front of his vision like a death omen. “You know we passed the prelims.”

Kiyoshi laughs. “I’ve never seen you use so many exclamation points! I counted; there were _s__ixteen_.”

Izuki gives a forced chuckle. “I guess so, Teppei. We, uh, we got the next bracket today.”

Apparently, the tension in his voice shows, because Kiyoshi’s next words are, “Shun? Are you all right?”

“I don’t know.” It’s refreshing to be able to answer so honestly. But Kiyoshi doesn’t look _up _to him; he doesn’t pin his hopes on Izuki like the rest of the team does. Well, he _does _to an extent – has to, since Izuki is captain and all – but he doesn’t see Izuki as something infallible like the rest of the team, including Riko, subconsciously does. Izuki can show his innermost worries to Kiyoshi and not have to worry about demoralising him; that’s what is so amazing about him. He _never _loses spirit.

“Who are you up against?”

Kiyoshi is _intuitive. _How he figured out it was the next opposing team Izuki was worried about is crazy.

“How’d you know?” Izuki rasps, a little of the tension easing. Talking to someone calming like Kiyoshi always does that.

“I know you, Shun,” comes the airy reply, light as a summer breeze and yet heavy as a wind laden with rain. Kiyoshi's so _ freeing_, it's insane.

_ I know you. _

When was the last time someone apart from his family really took the time to care for him like this? Warmth bubbles in Izuki's chest like winter melting to spring.

If he had a brother, he'd want it to be Kiyoshi.

“Thanks,” he replies just as warmly. “It means a lot, Teppei.”

“I know that, too,” Kiyoshi laughs. “So, tell me. Who’s got you so worried?”

Izuki takes a deep breath. “We’re fighting Tōō. And Aomine Daiki.”

Kiyoshi winces loudly. “That’s going to be a bit of a pill.”

Izuki sits up indignantly, phone clutched to his ear.

“You have to be the one reassuring me! You’re Captain Cool!” he reprimands.

He can almost hear Kiyoshi’s smile through the phone as the reply comes, “The girls call _you _that, not me.”

Izuki blushes furiously at the nickname the girls at school have for him – he is unfortunately popular among the female student body – and says snappily, “Don’t even.”

“I’m not going to say Aomine will be an easy defeat.” Kiyoshi’s voice drops, uncharacteristically serious. “But I will say this – you are the captain of Seirin High’s basketball team. You have it in you to bring out the best in your team and lead them to victory. And you’re well aware that I’d never play under anyone but the finest captain I knew!”

Izuki’s cheeks heat up, and he starts to stutter, “B – but th – that’s n – not tr – true.”

His friend cuts him off sternly. “We trust you! So you’d better trust yourself and carry us to victory on the wings of the eagle!”

With those words, as always, it’s Kiyoshi who brings alive the burning hunger in Izuki’s stomach again.

* * *

The match starts off fine. Sure, Tōō’s manager Momoi seems to know _ everything _ about them, and it gives their opponents an unfair advantage; however, Seirin’s all too used to overcoming difficulties. And sure, Imayoshi is a bit of an enigma, but Izuki is just as much of an irritating character as he is.

“We’re made for each other,” he tells Imayoshi with a wide, unnerving grin as the closed-eyed captain goes in for the shot. Izuki jumps to block, already reading the twist of Imayoshi’s body; he knows Imayoshi will turn _around _him, using him as the axis, and spins to get the ball, slamming it towards Tsuchida who passes quickly to the unseen spot.

The point goes to Seirin.

Sakurai, their shooting guard, is also a piece of work. That quick-release shot, that easily flustered personality – if Izuki had been marking him, he’d have shaken Sakurai completely by now. But he can’t have anyone else on Imayoshi: the other PG seems to have the same ability to play with minds that Izuki prizes so much, and he can’t let that affect Seirin.

But Seirin has an equally good shooter: Koganei, who matches Sakurai basket for basket. The score is even, Seirin just a few points behind Tōō. It’s surprisingly easy to keep Imayoshi in check, actually, since his mind games don’t work on Izuki. Momoi’s still dangerously clever - but overall, they’re doing fine.

That is, until Aomine shows up at the end of the second quarter.

* * *

Aomine Daiki is everything Izuki anticipated – and more. Somehow his very presence is stifling, a shadow looming over the opposing team, seeming to say, _You’ll never win against me. _

That’s what _really _gets Izuki pissed off. That arrogant look on Aomine’s face; he’s the best and he knows it. And he’s only playing for himself.

They switch positions; Izuki marks Sakurai and puts Kagami on Aomine. He sets Kuroko on Imayoshi as the only other person who can probably withstand those mind games for a few minutes.

Even if they can’t defeat the ace of the Miracles, keeping the others in check is what matters.

_ Aomine can score fifty points in a single quarter, _a niggling voice reminds him. He squashes it down with the thought that even the greatest player in the world cannot win alone.

_ Aomine can, though. Aomine can. _

_ Shut up, _ Izuki tells himself crabbily and focuses on Kagami, who seems about ready to murder Aomine. His red gaze is locked onto Aomine’s blue eyes, staring darkly into their depths.

That’s when Izuki remembers: Seirin has a crazy talented ace, too.

The ball is back in play, and it goes straight to Izuki and Sakurai’s spot. Sakurai is surprisingly quick when he isn’t apologising, hands already wide open to catch the ball.

But Izuki’s faster, and he makes the steal, passing directly to Kagami. He’s pinning his hopes on their ace, because that’s what an ace is for.

Kagami better _ace _being their _ace _– oh, that was a good one!

* * *

It’s halfway through the third quarter, and Izuki can’t stop the sudden tremble in his knees. He’s shivering, utterly stunned at the raw power and talent Aomine possesses.

That arrogance wasn’t unfounded after all.

Oh, he watched videos of Aomine, came up with strategy after strategy to corner him, but videos and strategies can only go so far. Aomine in real life is something else entirely, a flash of lightning setting the court on fire with the sheer elegance of his crazy street basketball. All one can do is sit back and watch, awed beyond belief. Nothing can curb the wild madness that is Aomine Daiki – unrestrained, gleeful insanity dancing across the court like it’s his playground.

He shoots from behind the hoop and from mid-air and from a position nearly parallel to the ground. He slips past Mitobe, king of defence, and stops Koganei’s threes. He runs rings around Izuki, whose speed pales in comparison – and Izuki knows he’s faster than most of the players out there. He defeats every strategy with illogical talent that _shouldn’t fucking work _but does anyway.

Tōō leads, still, and they’ve widened the gap to a twenty-point margin.

But Seirin is narrowing it even as they speak. Because Tōō isn’t the only one with a monster of an ace.

Kagami explodes into action then, and he matches Aomine point for point, move for move. His jumps are far more powerful than Aomine’s, and though he’s slower, he’s just as strong physically. He leaps like a gazelle and stops Aomine’s dunks and darts all over the court like the wildfire he is.

Both of them are locked on each other. The ball passes between them and only them, and no one else dares to interfere. Tango’s only for two, after all, and it’s not anybody’s place but Kagami’s and Aomine’s. This battle has become a one-on-one – the war of the aces.

Izuki can only hope Kagami’s half-healed legs match up; he can only hope that Seirin’s ace comes out on top.

* * *

(Spoiler alert: he doesn’t.)

* * *

The third quarter ends, and Seirin’s levelled the score to 59 – 55; still in Tōō’s favour, but it’s a far narrower gap than before. There is no telling what could turn the tide of the match at this point, especially with their ace on fire like he is.

Then Aomine happens.

“You can jump high. Good for you. But I’m tired of this,” he tells Kagami, before pulling off an _insane _shot from behind his back.

Kagami’s leapt higher than the hoop almost, straining those legs that have barely recovered from the crazy match against Midorima. But the angle of Aomine’s shot is such that the ball flies neatly over the redhead’s outstretched fingers and drops into the basket.

Izuki chokes on his saliva and loses track of his mark. The ball’s suddenly in Sakurai’s hands, and the kid jumps. Izuki moves along with him, but he’s too late: it’s already flown out of Sakurai’s grip, arcing cleanly into the basket.

_ Damn it, _ he scolds himself, shaking his head. This is no time to be worrying about Kagami; he can take care of himself. Izuki needs to focus on the rest of the court.

Aomine scores again. And again, and again, and again. Seirin would call a time-out, but they’re all out of those. Izuki can’t even force a smile at his pun. Shows just how bad the situation is.

It’s two minutes left and no sign of even a single basket. Aomine monopolises the ball, and Tōō’s score climbs. 80 – 55, 92 – 55.

Then the final whistle blows.

“112 – 55, Tōō Academy beats Seirin High!”

And Kuroko lets out a soft, anguished cry that holds all the pain in the world.

* * *

“I didn’t even have to try,” Aomine says flippantly as they make their way off the court. “I wasted my time on you, Kagami Taiga.”

Kagami, barely staying upright, boils with rage, and it’s Izuki who lays a calming hand on his arm, whispering, “Don’t. You’ll only make it worse.”

“But—!”

Izuki shakes his head. “Let’s _go_,” he states firmly, pulling Kagami away. “We have the Winter Cup to practise for.”

* * *

Tears come once they’re on the bus. Kuroko’s blubbering into Kagami’s shirt; the ace himself sobs softly. Riko cries into her hands. Koganei’s shaking, and Mitobe is weeping too. Furihata wipes frustratedly at his tears while Tsuchida does his best to hold back his own but loses that battle, too.

The only one with dry eyes is Izuki himself.

He can’t afford to cry right now – his team needs to see him strong. They need to know he’s still there, that he’s the never-changing rock, their anchor in tough times.

“What are you all so sad for?” he asks loudly.

“We just lost!” Kuroko snaps, uncharacteristically rude. “We _lost _to Aomine-kun.”

“So?” Izuki raises an eyebrow. “Just because we lost one game to him doesn’t mean that he beat us in all of them. We’ve still got two games to win! And when we win those, we’ll have another chance to defeat him, right?”

Seirin exchanges uneasy glances, but looking at Izuki, who’s wearing a confident grin, they start to perk up too.

Maybe they still have a chance.

* * *

They lose the rest of their matches.

Kagami can’t play - his legs have taken too much damage. Defeated and shattered, Seirin crumbles against opponents they could’ve easily beaten. Their hearts are crushed, and their wings have been broken - and it doesn’t look like they’re getting back up.

Once more, tears rain down after the humiliating losses. No one bothers to hide their sadness, except Izuki, whose eyes are still dry as a bone. Everyone sniffles and cries, until finally, he’s sick of it.

_ I know it’s sad; I want to sit and cry, too. But this isn’t the end of the world! _

“Cheer up,” he addresses his team sharply. “So we didn’t win! It’s just _ one loss_! Have you forgotten that we’ve still got the Winter Cup to win?”

“But – but Tōō beat us – what if—?” Kagami chokes out.

“What if we fail again?”

Kuroko nods tearily.

“We won’t,” Izuki says calmly. “Because once you lose to someone, you come back twice as hungry for victory. And that hunger is insatiable _unless _we beat Aomine in the _very next tournament_! So stop moping around, and let’s get back to practice tomorrow morning!”

A collective shout, brimming with energy, is answer enough.

Sure, Seirin’s flight has come to a jarring halt.

But Izuki knows, better than anyone, that a broken wing heals back twice as strong.

(It doesn’t help the fact that he wants to scream and cry, too, but he shuts up and stays calm because that’s what he’s always been good at.)

* * *

Izuki stares at his phone, exercising all of his willpower not to dial the number he knows by heart and just _break down_.

_ Why? Why am I so weak? If it had been you, I’m sure you would have led us to victory. _

_ I miss you… damn it, I miss you. _

_ I wish you were here. _

For all his bluster, Hyūga knows Izuki intimately well. He knows how to make him angry – a feat in itself – how to placate him, how to comfort him, and how to make him happy. If he were here, he’d wrap Izuki in a hug, no questions asked, and let him cry. Hyūga wouldn’t be shaken if Izuki cried because he is strong enough to bear the weight of both their emotions.

Or was, at any rate.

* * *

Izuki calls Kiyoshi a little while later.

“We lost.”

His voice is surprisingly steady. The loss is crippling and raw, but it’s nothing he can’t heal from – nothing _ they _can’t heal from. Izuki’s ready to train, ready to fight; he wants the next morning to come right now so he can go and start practicing.

Kiyoshi hums. “I’m sorry, Shun.”

“It’s all right.” It isn’t, really, but it will be. What kind of sportsmen would they be if they let one loss crush them? “I think it’s a sign. We weren’t meant to win without you, Teppei.”

“Come now, Shun. You shouldn’t say that. I’m not the only player on this team,” Kiyoshi reprimands gently.

Izuki shakes his head. “Without you,” he says honestly, “there would be no team at all.”

Kiyoshi laughs self-consciously. “Thanks, Shun. I can’t wait to get playing again. Only about one and a half months before I get out of here.”

“I can’t wait to play with you again,” Izuki replies truthfully. “It’s been too long.”

“It has, hasn’t it?”

“Yes. You’ll be a real _ace _up our sleeve.”

Kiyoshi bursts into deep, booming giggles that send chills up Izuki’s spine and warm him from head to toe. “Ah, I love your jokes.”

Izuki smiles. “Thanks, man.”

“I look forward to hearing some more in person.”

There’s a naughty hint to Kiyoshi’s tone that makes Izuki raise an eyebrow.

“Teppei, are you planning something?”

“Me?” Kiyoshi asks too innocently. “Why would I ever _dream _of planning anything?”

And he hangs up before Izuki can even reply, leaving the captain staring at his phone and unable to hold back a chuckle.

_ Idiot. _

* * *

A week later and Seirin’s already back to training like their life depends on it. Kuroko practises separately from everyone else, still beating himself up for their loss. Izuki’s tried and tried to get him out of his funk, to tell him it’s not his fault, but Kuroko won’t listen. He walks like the weight of the world is on his shoulders these days. Still, Izuki won’t back down.

He hates giving up – especially giving up on your friends.

Izuki ignores the bitter guilt that rises in his stomach and gets back to practice.

The others are hard at work, too. Koganei studies up on other shooting guards; Tsuchida practises screening with Mitobe, who improves his hook shot and works on his mid-air balance to do something similar to Imayoshi’s form; Kagami goes to leg therapy to make sure he’ll be in tiptop shape for the Winter Cup.

Furihata takes extra lessons from Izuki on watching the court and controlling the flow of the game, and he’s already a natural, luckily. Fukuda sharpens his rebounds with Tsuchida, and Kawahara practises his own three-pointers with help from Koganei. (He’s getting quite good at it, too.) Riko’s going full throttle as well, creating improvised training menus focused on honing each member’s skills and having them develop new ones, since Seirin’s problem will never be teamwork.

Izuki also practises separately, putting ten times more effort into his play than he used to. It’s tough, at first, to keep up his grades along with the intensive training, but it gets easier. And he gets faster. His footwork is more fluid, and his Eye becomes even better tuned into the finest details of the court.

But Tōō still hangs over Seirin like a dark cloud. Even Izuki cannot banish it completely from his mind. The opposing team, dressed in black and red like an anti-Seirin force, lurks silently in his head, just waiting to strike again.

It’s like trying to keep afloat in a storming sea. The rogue wave of their defeat slams into the Seirin team repeatedly, water filling their lungs even as they kick harder against the waves.

It almost seems hopeless.

Until one week later, a powerful stride echoes throughout the gym, and a familiar voice challenges, “Kagami, let’s duel for the ace position!”

Izuki chokes, looking up from where he’s practising his threes, to see _Kiyoshi_. Standing there in his stupid pink shirt, tall and broad and _real_.

Then annoyance takes over surprise, and he yells, eye twitching, “Weren’t you supposed to be back in a month and a half?!”

Kiyoshi laughs affably, eyes crinkling. “I wanted to see your surprised face. It’s been so long since I could get anything past you.”

Izuki rolls his eyes and scoffs. “You are _such _an idiot, Teppei.”

“But you’re glad to have me back,” Kiyoshi states like it’s a given, arms wide open and smiling like an angel.

“Of course, but you’re still an idiot.” Izuki shoots another three, which actually lands this time, decidedly not looking at Kiyoshi.

Kiyoshi pouts. “What, no welcome back hug?”

Furihata clears his throat and stares incredulously at the both of them.

“Um, you guys can have your romantic reunion later – it’s the middle of practice and didn’t, uh, Kizashi-senpai want to play me?” Kagami asks belligerently.

“It’s Kiyoshi!” Kiyoshi blusters, face red; for once his composure is gone. “Besides, Shun and I aren’t – we aren’t _romantic_!”

“You’re not?” echo all the first-years – and come to think of it, there’s a female pitch in there, too. Izuki turns to Riko to see her innocently surprised as she asks along with the first-year players. He doesn’t miss the devil’s glint in her eyes. There’s no fighting Riko directly, so instead he retaliates by turning away and shooting again.

Then he turns back around, smiling sweetly and asking with an evil light in his own eyes, “Say, everyone, we have an awful lot of time to be contemplating my relationship with Teppei, right? It’s not as if, oh, we _lost to Tōō _and need to work on everything in the little time we’ve got before the Winter Cup?”

Everyone gulps at the sudden emergence of Izuki’s rarely seen scary side and gets back to their practice immediately – except Kagami, who goes one-on-one with Kiyoshi (and wins solely because Kiyoshi is still wearing indoor shoes).

Izuki continues his own shooting practice, scoffing at the idea of him and Kiyoshi. It’s honestly ludicrous – and _no_, he is not in denial.

Because Izuki Shun is in love with someone else. It is a love he cannot let go of, a person whom he misses every day, without whom he feels incomplete. A person who hurt him, whom he shouldn’t want to go back to – but he so badly does.

And that someone goes by the name of Hyūga Junpei.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments make a blob happy~


	4. a broken bone grows back stronger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Repost: 14.08.20.  
This chapter originally came out on Izuki's birthday! Almost a year from that day, I've finished the story. Ahh, when I was young...  
chapter song: [Battle Symphony](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7ab595h0AU) by Linkin Park! it symbolises to me how seirin is starting to pick themselves back up!  
Update, 18.11.20: i fucking wrote 14.08.19 like an idiot. yeah. i posted this chapter before i even posted the fic. it's insignificant but i thought you guys might get a laugh out of my stupidity <3

Two weeks after the crushing loss of Seirin against Tōō, the bespectacled boy picks up the tape of the disastrous game and inserts it into a video player he hasn’t used for this purpose in forever. He knows his days of analysing other teams are long over. Yet, he can’t help but watch every game of theirs, whether he’s able to be there or not.

He grasps fretfully at his dark hair and watches Seirin crumble before Aomine Daiki.

“Come on,” he hisses, gritting his teeth. “My prayer couldn’t have been for nothing. _ Come on_.”

He clenches his fists, fingernails digging into his palms, as the captain’s sharp, hopeful gaze surveys the crowd only to fall back to the hardwood floor, defeated. 

He wants to cry - oh, _ how _ he wants to cry, to scream, to shout. He wasn’t there for them when it counted and now—

_ But he wouldn’t want you to break like this, _ says a voice from the back of his mind suddenly. He jolts upwards, the tears forming in his eyes gone instantly; the voice is right. 

_ You wouldn’t want me to break like this. I’m better than this. _

He needs to think, to sort out his feelings and his muddled mind. And what better place to do it than the very place that has him so conflicted right now?

* * *

It is night, and the lights shine down on the streetball court where a single boy is practising his shooting.

“Damn it,” Koganei mutters angrily as the ball bounces off the rim once more. He picks up his phone, studying the video of Ray Allen, whose hands flick gracefully as he tosses the ball into the basket. Koganei carefully watches the way Allen’s arms rise above his head and the way he flings the ball forwards. He replays the video a few times, then puts the phone back down and exhales.

The loss of Seirin to Tōō still haunts him. It's like they're hanging over his head, a storm waiting to crash down on him. He wasn't good enough. He wasn't good enough when it _ counted_, and though he knows he didn't cost Seirin the match, it feels like it was all his fault.

But he won’t mope around. He'll practise to make up for it. He'll work at Ray Allen's shooting form, because it's not enough to know a bit of it. He’ll be perfect (he has to be), and next time he won't miss a single opportunity to score. He’s not going to be the kind of shooting guard that leaves people and lets them down, like Izuki’s blond fellow did.

“All right,” Koganei says to himself, moving to stand in front of the hoop. “One more time.”

He jumps, raising the ball to just above his face and releasing it. It misses, and he lets out a cry of frustration.

Can he even _ do _ this? Is it worth the time?

Koganei bites back the wave of guilt that washes over him at the thought. Izuki, Kiyoshi, Tsuchida, Rinnosuke, Kagami, Kuroko – he’d be letting them down if he didn’t give this his best shot. They’re all so dedicated to basketball that they each have a special skill honed from years of practice and love for the sport. If he can’t bring anything of his own to the table, what will he mean to this team? Seirin makes him want to be a team player, to add his skills to theirs rather than shining on his own. The change is good, yes, but he doesn’t want to stop there – he doesn’t want to be useless.

He will _ not _ be useless.

Koganei’s mouth settles in a firm line, and he shoots again. Trying his level best to emulate Ray Allen’s elusive form, the one that lies within easy reach and yet is so far away.

He misses again.

“You aren’t getting the trick,” says a new voice. Koganei whips around in shock, nearly dropping the ball, to see a tall boy with short brown hair and glasses. He’s dressed in a loose shirt and jeans; his olive-grey eyes are intent on Koganei and the ball he holds.

He seems vaguely familiar, but Koganei ignores that in lieu of staring at him and asking, “What do you mean?”

The boy sidles over, clicking his tongue as he looks at Koga’s hands. “Your form is all wrong. The secret is in the low jump height and the set point.”

Koganei stares dumbfoundedly. 

“…I have no idea what that means.” he admits. The boy’s eye twitches. 

“You’re a rookie? Fucking _ great_. You should give up on learning Ray Allen’s form. It’s way too hard for someone who just started basketball.”

_ Give up? _

Koganei’s brows dip into a frown as the words ring around his head. Give up? Let go? Oh, _ no_. No way in _ hell _ is he giving up on this. How _ dare _ this random guy insinuate that he should?

“I don’t need you to tell me I’m doing it wrong – I can tell that for myself. Yeah, so I’m new to basketball. So _ what_? I’ll develop this skill however long it takes me to! I’ll bring something to my team like the rest of them do!” he snaps passionately, meaning every word of it. The guy raises an eyebrow - then a smirk cuts across his face.

“Fine. I can’t do it myself, but I can teach you the secret.”

“What is it?” Koganei asks, instantly riveted.

“Uh… well… there are lots,” says the boy, cracking his neck. “But I’ll teach you the most important one. Allen’s cross-eye dominant, which means he’s right-handed, but his left eye is dominant.”

Koganei nods. “Right. For me, I think it’s the same; the right hand is my shooting hand.”

The boy nods. “Good, you’re already sure of that. Next is his jumping height – that is, how high he jumps. Which is pretty low, if you’ve noticed?”

“Yep.”

“Hmm. That’s good. So have you tried that, or…? Because I saw you were jumping pretty high.”

“I did not, no,” Koganei says, a little embarrassed that he didn’t try to copy the low height of the jump; it _ is _kind of obvious when he thinks about it. The boy pinches the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up in the process, and sighs. 

“Well, do that. Then your arms – Allen has a low setting point. He sets up his shot a lot lower and closer than most shooters do.” Koganei nods, taking mental notes and committing everything to memory as best as he can.

“Like so,” the boy says, plucking the ball from Koga’s hands and demonstrating the low but focused shooting motion. “You hold it in front of the focus of your dominant eye and trace the arc of the ball mentally.”

It starts to click in Koganei’s mind, then, but he doesn’t say anything. He needs all the pieces before he can put everything together.

“And?” he prompts.

“You make sure to have your shooting hand on the side of the ball,” the boy says. “Then you go for the quick release. That’s pretty much it.”

Koganei raises an eyebrow, but shifts into position. He goes through the motions a few times, the boy correcting his stance and form.

“One more time,” he instructs. Koganei obeys, body sliding into the posture, and the boy smirks. 

“Perfect.” Then his phone rings in his pocket, and his smirk drops to be replaced by a startled look as he reaches for it.

“Shit, it’s _ this _ late?!” he exclaims. “I have to go.”

“Thanks a ton,” Koganei says gratefully. The boy shakes his head and smiles. 

“You’re going to go places, dude.” he says a little wistfully. Then he disappears just as suddenly as he came, leaving Koganei holding the ball and staring down at it.

“All right,” he mutters to himself, alone now. “One last try.”

He goes through the motions smoothly, lifting his arms above his head.

_ Focus of your shooting eye… low set point… low jump… quick release! _

The ball arcs gracefully out of his fingers and lands in the basket without so much as grazing the rim. Koganei chokes, unable to believe it.

_ One more time. It could’ve been a fluke. _

He grabs the ball and goes for it again, this time consciously not thinking of what he has to do. Regardless, his body moves naturally, and his eyes trace the arc of the shot almost unconsciously.

Perfect basket.

“Holy shit,” he whispers to himself, half stunned and half euphoric. “Holy _ shit_, I got it.”

He can finally give back to the team that gave him purpose. And all because of a random guy that decided to give him input.

_ Come to think of it… I could swear I’ve seen him around somewhere. _

Ah, well. That’s a deliberation for another day. Koganei is content with eternal gratitude to the guy and his perfected shooting form.

He can’t wait to surprise the team with it.

* * *

Riko has really come through this time. Izuki can’t help but feel overwhelmingly awed by the dedication and skill in every single menu she comes up with for them. He makes sure to tell her multiple times; she just laughs it off, but he can tell the praise bolsters her.

That’s good. They could all use some bolstering right about now.

Riko holds three days of practice games, freshmen versus their seniors, to help narrow down what each player needs to work on. (Kagami, the monster that he is, ends up winning the first one all by himself.) 

For Izuki, it happens to be his overall power - he needs more stamina and core strength. How she figured that out within three days, he’ll never know. But what he does know is… Aida Riko is pretty damn amazing. 

She’s announced not one but_ two _ training camps, one in the summer and one in the winter, to be held at a low expense with a high rate of success just the way she likes. She and Tsuchida, the resident biology expert, have worked out the science together, and apparently, it’s good to train in areas of rugged or unusual terrain – like the beach or the mountains, which is where they’re going.

They will also be including their regular pool training after the camps, as well as some more intensive workouts that should help each member sharpen their abilities. The natural air will also help them increase their stamina. (According to Tsuchida. Izuki doesn’t trust fickle science where there’s always an exception to the rule. He’s a maths person who likes his facts and figures.)

It still hurts, the memory of Hyūga, but it’s easier these days. He can think back fondly on the times they had together without that searing pain that used to accompany the memories, which are now tinted sepia with nostalgia. He isn’t hoping anymore that Hyūga will come back, and isn't hung up over the boy he used to be. This is the path that Hyūga has chosen, and if it diverges from Izuki’s own then so be it.

_ I love the person you used to be, and that’s okay._

* * *

Kiyoshi asks him one day after practice, “how’s everything?”

“How’s everything?” Izuki arches an eyebrow. “You spend most of your day around me and you’re asking how I am?”

Kiyoshi shrugs. “You know what I mean.”

Glasses flash in Izuki’s mind, and he sighs out loud.

“Teppei, I haven’t spoken to him in months. Hell, the only reason I know he’s in my class is because I sit behind him! I’m way too focused on thinking about the best use of Furihata's skills, and on the Winter Cup. I don’t even have his number.”

All truth. Except, Izuki’s never actually _had _Hyūga’s number. He memorised it one day and that was that. It’s the first number that dances at his fingertips every time he lifts his phone.

“Anyway, is that what you should be worried about? Rather than Tōō?” Izuki reminds gently, elbowing Kiyoshi in the ribs; however, his friend looks troubled. 

“That’s… actually what I wanted to talk to you about.” he says, looking at the ground. Izuki swallows, an ominous pit opening up in the bottom of his stomach.

“What does that mean?” he asks, forcing the tremor out of his voice. Kiyoshi sighs, fear in his eyes. 

“That match. I watched the tape, and… Shun, you _scared _me. You looked so damn _lost _like you didn’t know what to do – and – and I felt lost, too. It’s like – you can’t _do _that. You can’t lose your thread. You’re the _captain,_ Shun; we all look to you! If _ you’re _ terrified, then how will _ we _ feel?!”

Izuki’s world spins and starts to disintegrate. Kiyoshi sees him as something untouchable, too. He’ll get demoralised if Izuki reveals his fears, too. The one person he _could _break down to was never actually someone whom he should have been breaking down to at all.

He exhales and puts up his walls again carefully.

“Sorry,” he says in the cool tone he reserves for when he’s trying very hard to keep it together. It seems to work, if Kiyoshi’s relieved expression is any answer. “I’ll do better from now on.”

Kiyoshi nods. “Thanks, Shun,” he says and waves a cheerful goodbye.

“You’re welcome,” Izuki murmurs bitterly after him.

Being captain comes with wearing masks; and he’s all too familiar with doing that.

So, why does it hurt this much to have to put it back on?

Short brown hair, grey eyes, and a confident smirk dance in front of his half-closed lids, and Izuki has to consciously steel his legs so the shaking will stop.

As he turns and walks home, he doesn’t notice Kiyoshi, who has stopped a few feet away and is watching him with troubled eyes.

* * *

The ‘training camp from hell’, Izuki and Seirin are soon to find out, is dubbed correctly. Riko has left no stone unturned in flaying her team alive. They play basketball on the beach, where they can’t dribble and are forced to work on improving their shooting. Koganei, particularly, shines in this exercise, and Izuki wipes the smug smirk off his face by delivering him a solid kick to the ass, one Kasamatsu would be proud of. They also run a lot along the sea – the undulating surface of sand, a lot looser than the compact earth they’re used to sprinting on, helps focus a person’s weight onto the base of their big toe, which is the strongest area of the foot.

Again, Izuki doesn’t trust biology, so he doesn’t know how far this will work. But he finds himself strengthening slowly, his legs able to take more, jump higher, go faster, and maybe deep down inside, he finds a little bit of appreciation for the science of humanity.

Tsuchida will never let him live this down.

Kuroko and Kagami have stopped talking to each other. They barely interact in the way they used to, and Kuroko doesn’t pass to him anymore. Izuki wonders if he should be worried, but then he sees Kiyoshi one night standing outside the small training facility they’ve got, peering into the window and smiling at Kuroko, who’s working his ass off inside.

_ You sly fox, this is all your doing! _ Izuki thinks, but can’t be mad at Kiyoshi for it. He’s right, after all; Kuroko will need to learn to be a bit more self-reliant. And Kagami and Kuroko will need to grow apart a little if they ever want to grow together again.

* * *

Every day at the beach, Seirin undergoes rigorous training and conditioning, bodies being shaped slowly into finely tuned weapons. Every night, they call home as promised and then fall asleep instantly, exhausted from the training.

Every night, Izuki has to restrain himself from punching in the number he knows so well and just _talking _like he can’t do with anyone else, not even Aya, Mai, or his mother.

Every night, he imagines how much the old Hyūga would’ve loved to be here and can’t hold back a small, wistful smile.

* * *

Shūtoku unfortunately – or fortunately, seeing as this doubles Izuki’s opportunities to tease Takao – are staying at the same hostel that Seirin chose. They arrived a day later and chose the more expensive facility to train at. (Of course, this in no way deterred Izuki from calmly marching Seirin over to Shūtoku’s practice and demanding a game as his team looked on half in awe and half in fear at his audacity. Which turned into another. And another. And another. Until both teams decided to just set aside the later portion of the day to practise against each other.)

It’s hilariously entertaining to watch Kagami trying to achieve equal dexterity in his left hand as he has in his right. It’s due to Midorima’s advice, apparently - Izuki isn’t really surprised by that. Midorima reads as a complete and utter _ tsundere_. Still, it’s a welcome change, especially since Kagami’s jumps are about fifteen times as powerful as before. He’s suddenly on a different level, better, _ higher _ than the rest of them.

Shūtoku is finally playing as a team. Midorima - insert gasp - actually _ passes _to his teammates. Yes, Izuki was shocked, too.

Midorima has a strange sense of humour as well, Izuki finds with a little more than a bit of surprise during a game when they’re marking each other.

Izuki makes the last shot successfully, sealing the game for Seirin, and Midorima informs him that he seems to be ‘giving it his best shot’.

He stops and stares for a few seconds before asking, “Was that—?”

Midorima doesn’t reply, but there’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he jogs off to help pick sides for the mixed-team match.

* * *

That night, Kiyoshi comes to him. Izuki’s slightly confused, but makes space for his friend on his futon, tilting his head curiously.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoshi says bluntly. Izuki frowns, perplexed.

“For what, Teppei?”

“I made you feel like you were alone.”

Izuki raises his eyebrows. Kiyoshi just continues, looking down at his hands as he speaks.

“I made you think you couldn’t break down to me. I said some stupid things the other day about Tōō… I was being an idiot, Shun! I rely on you, but… you can also rely on me. I… I know that you’d never lose it unless things were really bad, and I can’t always expect you to keep it up emotionally. I’m - I’m sorry.” 

His brown eyes shimmer wetly, and some tension breaks in Izuki’s chest.

_ He’s trying. That’s more than anyone’s ever done for me. _

Wordlessly, he reaches over and hugs Kiyoshi. The embrace feels as warm as the brightest summer day.

* * *

The image of Hyūga, fourteen and happy, is starting to fade from Izuki’s mind.

He thinks of Hyūga now, the angry, abrasive, and hurt boy, the lazy man he has turned into, and feels a numb indifference to him.

Fourteen-year-old Hyūga laughs in Izuki’s mind, bright and clear. The usual wave of sadness combined with intense love washes over him… except it isn’t half as intense anymore.

_ I don’t love you, _ he thinks suddenly. _ I love the boy who loved himself and knew how to forgive. I don’t love the broken man you are now. _

Izuki’s eyes snap open, Eagle Eye activated, and he stares at the ceiling in shock and dread.

The one feeling he _ did _ trust himself to have is slowly slipping away.

* * *

They're home almost too soon, but with bodies stronger and better for it. At their first practice after the training camp, Izuki's the one to propose a quick game before the freshmen show up, all held back by teachers instructing them on the preparations for the upcoming school festival. He’s feeling restless and wants to work off some of the energy.

Riko divvies them up into two-man teams – Izuki and Koganei against Kiyoshi and Tsuchida, with Mitobe as a sub for either team. The game is fast-paced and heated, and Izuki enjoys every second of it. His muscles sing with the thrill of action; suddenly, he doesn’t feel restless anymore. He’s completely focused on the game.

He passes to Koganei, who is open for a shot and at the perfect location. They’re all expecting a regular three, maybe his pseudo-Allen form.

But Koga jumps, low and close to the ground unlike the usual. He raises the ball above his head, holding it directly in front of his right eye, which seems to be tracing a trajectory in the air. His wrists flick forwards and the ball arcs neatly into the basket.

This same form is etched into Izuki’s mind now, from watching so many videos in his quest to help Hyūga master it – despite not getting the exact details of it to help Koga, he wouldn’t miss it anywhere. He looks on with wide eyes, completely floored by the perfection of Koganei’s new shot.

Their shooting guard has just learnt the style of Ray Allen, arguably the NBA’s best SG.

“How long were you holding out on this?” asks Tsuchida incredulously.

Koga just rubs the back of his head and laughs, “I mastered it a few days after we lost to Tōō.”

Mitobe’s eye twitches. 

_ That long? _Koganei blushes. 

“Sorry, Mitobe.”

_ He hasn’t even told his best friend? He must really have wanted to surprise us. _

“Why wait so long, though?” Izuki asks.

“I wanted to make sure I was perfect,” Koga says.

“That’s great,” Izuki says warmly. “I’m proud of you, man. But how?”

“I had help,” Koganei says bashfully. “This guy from our school gave me some pointers. I don’t know who he is – he seemed kind of familiar, but… yeah. It’s all thanks to him. He corrected my stance, said some stuff about a low set point and told me to hold the ball at the focus of my shooting eye?”

Izuki’s throat constricts.

_ Could it be... _

A voice says in his mind, _ “This thing says that you have to hold it right at the focus of your shooting eye, and it stresses the low setting point.” _ Glasses flash as they’re pushed up an aquiline nose, and a serious expression overtakes the boy’s face as he internalises the advice from the webpage.

It’s a phrase Izuki has heard too many times to forget. And he knows it’s stupid, knows this is only going to reignite his impossible prayer, but he hopes against hope.

_ If that was you… _

This time, the hope it lights in his heart isn’t the burning desire, the sad and angry wish that it used to be. It’s a question, one that he wants a positive answer for but won’t be disappointed if he doesn’t get it. 

(In the end, that hope that Koganei’s throwaway comment gives him is more healing than any medicine.)

“If he knows so much about Ray Allen, why isn’t he on the team, though?” Koganei wonders, bringing Izuki back to reality. “I mean, he definitely _ seemed _like he plays. Or played at some point.”

“Maybe something happened with basketball,” suggests Tsuchida, starting to catch on from the constant smiles and looks being exchanged between Izuki and Riko.

Koganei hums. 

“Probably. He was pretty cynical when he learned I was a rookie, and said I'd never get it." he says. Izuki smiles and claps his shoulder.

"He helped you, and that's what matters. If he doesn't want to join us, that's his call; but this is your moment, so let's all be happy for you and maybe celebrate later?"

Riko nods, grinning widely. 

"I can cook," she offers.

"_No_," chorus all of Seirin's second-years, looking horrified. Riko pouts jokingly, then laughs. 

"All right, Koganei-kun gets to do two fewer drills than the rest of you."

"_What_?!"

* * *

The first-years find a flyer for a streetball tournament and beg Izuki to let them go. Riko thinks it’s a good idea, so Izuki agrees despite the slight unease in his gut. Kiyoshi elects to go with them as a chaperone of sorts, but Izuki knows he just wants the thrill of competition again after so long. He sends him off with a smile and a, “If you get yourself hurt again, see what I do!” in a cheerful tone that sends chills down everyone’s spines.

With nothing better to do, Izuki, Tsuchida, Mitobe, and Koganei ask Riko for a new training menu just for the evening. She agrees, eyes sparkling as she considers all the ‘fun’ workouts she can inflict on her second-years. They’re busy working their asses off through a series of Romanian deadlifts when a heavy knock resounds at the doors of the gym.

Riko runs over to open the door, and into her arms stumbles a wet bundle of - _ is that pink_?

Izuki doesn’t miss the blush on Riko’s cheeks as she pulls Momoi Satsuki up, or the subsequent darkening of Momoi’s own face as she realises she has just fallen into Riko’s arms. Before Koganei can ogle, Riko has hurried the sopping-wet girl into the broom cupboard and given her some extra clothes, which unfortunately are slightly tight around Momoi’s chest.

“I had a fight with Aomine-kun,” admits Momoi, carefully laying out her wet shirt to dry and taking the coat Riko offers with a grateful smile. “I came in search of Tetsu-kun, but he doesn’t seem to be here.” She peers around hopefully for Kuroko, but looks disappointed when she doesn’t find him.

A wicked glint comes into Izuki’s eyes, but Riko cuffs him on the head.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warns him, turning back to Momoi. “He’s out. I’ll contact him for you.” She then fires off a quick text to Kuroko, who responds immediately with, “We’re on our way, Coach.”

The first-years and Kiyoshi arrive within twenty minutes - Izuki is surprised at their speed. Kiyoshi laughs and explains that it’d started raining, so they had already been travelling back when Riko texted.

“Looks like you had fun,” Izuki says, referring to the sparkle in Kiyoshi’s eyes.

Kiyoshi grins. “I did! I met Murasakibara-kun, and Kagami’s brother Himuro.”

“Murasakibara?” Izuki raises an eyebrow. “What’s he like?”

“Lazy, undisciplined, and he seems to hate basketball,” Kiyoshi says with a grimace. “But I’ll get him to come around.”

“Of course you will,” says Izuki with a laugh.

Momoi’s problem turns out to be quite easily resolvable with a few words from her beloved Kuroko. Still, as she gives Kuroko an affectionate goodbye hug, Izuki catches the shy glance she casts at Riko, who completely misses it.

Kuroko elects to escort Momoi back to Tōō, and when he returns, he seems far happier for it, like an _ invisible _weight has been lifted off his shoulders. That’ll need some work, Izuki thinks, and smiles at his sort-of pun for the first time in a long time.

* * *

The dull light of the phone reflects off unpolished glasses. Grey eyes scan the text of the unsent email he’d drafted months ago.

_ to: _ [_eaglei@hotmail.com _ ](mailto:eaglei@hotmail.com)

_ date: 23 oct 2017 _

_ subject: hey _

_ happy birthday. i’m not great at art, you know that, but i can take a nice photograph. it’s a lousy gift, but when have i ever been good at gifts? _

_ 1 file attached: _

_ shun.jpeg _

He taps on the file, biting his lower lip. He anticipates the way his heart will burn when he looks at the image, but he always feels it far more than he expects to.

The boy with the dark hair and black eyes to match is smiling softly. The late afternoon sun, filtering through the leaves of the tree just outside the window he sits next to, casts a golden glow on his skin. The light hits his eyes at just the right angle, shining off the irises like they’re sparkling chips of obsidian. His face is half-turned towards the front of the class and half towards the window, clearly relishing the sun on his face but not willing to miss the lesson for it. Most likely, he hadn’t even known he was being photographed – unusual if you knew of his eye ability, but completely normal if you knew his tendency to daydream.

The boy’s finger hovers over ‘send’ for a brief second, and his lips twitch up into a sad smile.

_ I don’t think I’m ready just yet. _

Long, calloused fingers press down on ‘save draft’.

* * *

The training camp has done wonders for Seirin. All of them are faster, stronger, simply _ better _ than they were before, and a new maturity is evident in the way they hold themselves. They’re reacting faster, thinking quicker, and wanting _ more_.

Izuki could not be prouder of these idiots he calls a team – and he couldn’t be prouder of himself, either. He’s growing, slowly, and he feels like he can finally be _ enough_. Like he can finally be the best captain, the best point guard, the best basketball player that he can.

And if Hyūga Junpei isn’t a part of that growth, then that’s fine, too. It hurts a little that he isn’t there because _hell_, Izuki’s played basketball with him since God knows when. It hurts because Hyūga always encouraged him, always helped him forward, and they always gave each other that extra push that was needed. It hurts that he isn’t here because he used to be Izuki’s entire world.

But even if he isn’t, Izuki doesn’t have to have him be the centre of his life. He doesn’t have to depend on him to find a reason to grow.

He’s got an entire team for that now.

* * *

The days pass quickly enough, and soon they’re back in Tokyo. They enter the first round of the qualifiers, up against Jōsei High.

Izuki wants to punch their first-year as soon as he hears him comment on Riko’s appearance. He wisely holds back, contenting himself with the knowledge that Riko is more than capable of delivering punches twice as powerful as his own.

“Destroy them,” she says in a sweet tone that belies the utter disgust in her eyes, drawing a finger across her throat.

Izuki gets the same cold look in his eyes, and he grins slyly.

“Will do, Coach.”

* * *

Seirin trashes Jōsei. Narumi is all gravure and no actual play; Kiyoshi defeats him easily. The only downside is that Kagami, whose legs are used to putting in more force from jumping off the shifting sand, accidentally bumps his face into the hoop. Twice. It feels more like watching a blooper reel than an actual match.

Their next match is against the third King of Tokyo, Senshinkan, who thrashed them completely in the Inter-High. But Izuki isn’t particularly nervous – they’ve got their ace now, after all, as well as Kiyoshi, and sometimes brute strength can really win a game.

“Let’s have a good game,” he says with a friendly smile, shaking the hand of Senshinkan’s captain.

“You’re lucky to lose to the best team in the prefecture,” is the arrogant answer. Izuki doesn’t let it faze him, though. In fact, this is an advantage.

They planned to start with Kagami and Kuroko against Senshinkan, but Izuki convinces Riko to switch them out for Furihata and Tsuchida, pointing out the complacent look in the Senshinkan players’ eyes.

Furihata gives an exemplary performance, only shaking a bit with nervousness. Izuki half-considers sitting out so Fukuda or Kawahara can get a chance, but decides against it. Senshinkan is a powerful team – it wouldn’t do to play games with them. Even if they _are _technically playing a game with them right now.

Hm, that one will need some work, Izuki thinks. His puns aren’t really flowing today.

Seirin wins quite easily, considering how they struggled with Seihō and Shūtoku. But then, those teams took them seriously. This one doesn’t, not even after being slammed in the first three quarters.

Seirin wins 111 – 45. Senshinkan is left staring at the court in shock, their captain spluttering as Izuki informs him airily, “We don’t plan to lose against ourselves any time soon.”

Was that a little bit unnecessary? Yes. Did it sound a little prideful? Absolutely. Is Riko’s scolding worth it? A hundred times over just to see that look on the other captain’s face for one second.

This win means that they’ve beaten all the Kings of Tokyo once – which just goes to show that it’s a fancy title and nothing more. Hell, a _rat _could beat Izuki at basketball, if it had the right mindset and experience. Still, Izuki can't help grinning victoriously, and for the first time, he’s not thinking of how proud Hyūga would have been, but how proud _he_ is of himself and his team.

For the first time, he feels that this team _is _complete. Complete, and perfect.

* * *

They draw with Shūtoku in the next match. It’s more like playing against comrades – according to Ōtsubo, Izuki irritated him into friendship. Izuki still doesn’t know how he managed that, but it’s an achievement regardless.

Of course Shūtoku is used to all Izuki’s and Seirin’s tricks; the same goes for Seirin, though. The scoreboard seesaws continuously between the two teams, and soon enough, they fall into the usual cat-and-mouse game they played all summer.

Midorima and Kagami duel like usual, neither getting a clear upper hand. Kagami matches every shot of Midorima’s with his own dunks, and the green-haired boy, to his credit, makes quite a few unexpected passes. He seems more… open, as well. Hell, the aces even trade advice as they fight for the ball, Kagami telling Midorima how to dunk, Midorima showing off his shooting form.

Kuroko and Takao are no less rivals. Kuroko’s Vanishing Drive is particularly useful against Takao, who picks himself up rather agreeably and keeps vowing to stop Kuroko. He never does, but that’s a different matter.

Seirin and Shūtoku fight tooth and nail for the lead. Neither team drops the ball even once - that was good! - and they pull out all the stops.

That’s when Midorima, who should’ve crossed his limit long ago, shoots. It makes the basket perfectly, pulling Shūtoku ahead by three points in the last few milliseconds. Izuki thinks his heart will beat out of his chest, but he remains calm as the clock winds down.

_ 0.5, 0.4, 0.3— _

He passes to Koganei, who shoots without missing a beat.

_ 0.0. _

The final buzzer rings, but Koganei’s shot is still arcing through the air. Izuki grits his teeth, praying to every god he knows.

_ Make it, make it, I’m begging you to make it... _

The ball doesn’t even graze the rim of the basket, neatly netting three points to draw level with Shūtoku at 104-all. 

Because this is just a prelim, they end up tied, and both schools advance forward. They promise to meet again in the finals and part with laughter as if they’re leaving a family get-together rather than a serious game of basketball.

* * *

The next game is against Kirisaki Daīchi. Izuki snarls at the name, his explosive reaction getting a worried glance from Kagami and suspicious eyes from Kuroko.

“Kiyoshi can’t play. No way in _hell _are we letting him play,” he says furiously, not caring that everyone’s right there. Hopefully Kiyoshi won’t mind them knowing about the injury.

Riko sighs. “But Izuki-kun, we can’t afford to sit Teppei out. Kirisaki is national-level.”

“Yes, we can,” Izuki grits out, teeth clenched. “We defeated them with four players on the court and were about to thrash them with five. The same five are even better this year. Kagami and Kuroko’s introduction will help too.”

“Izuki-kun, this is why I chose you as captain, because you wouldn’t let your emotions cloud your judgment,” Riko says. “Don’t let feelings get in the way.”

“_It’s not my feelings_!” Izuki roars suddenly, making everyone jump. Sure, he’s shorter than almost everyone save for Kuroko, Koga, Furihata, and Riko, but who said he couldn’t be the most intimidating person in the room?

“Kiyoshi is our _only shot at winning_. And it’s _his _last shot at victory in basketball, too.” He quiets a little, the wave of rage having abated slightly. “I want to win for him, but I also know we need him to win. Kirisaki could ruin his legs again, and then who knows what we’ll do even if we qualify?”

He can see it all computing in Riko’s head. The other second-years, ready to follow his lead, are already nodding. The first-years look a little dubious and scared – no doubt because of his unexpected outburst – but they’re nodding, too.

“Fine,” Riko says. “We rest Teppei during the game versus Kirisaki.” 

“You what?” comes a horrified voice from the door. Izuki whips around to see Kiyoshi standing there, looking angry and fearful at the same time.

“You can’t _do this_, Shun,” he says in a strangled voice.

“Oh? I can’t do what, exactly?”

“Not play me. You _need me _– I _know _Makoto—” Kiyoshi tries, anguished. Izuki shakes his head tiredly. 

“We won’t risk playing you. If you get injured worse, it’s only going to hurt our Winter Cup chances.”

“But—” Kiyoshi starts, and Izuki cuts him off smoothly. 

“_No_. We need you for the main matches. I won’t have them hurting you again. I know it’s your debt to pay back, but that’s what a team is for. We’ll get your revenge for you.” But Kiyoshi shakes his head, frowning. 

“You don’t _understand_. It’s not about revenge, I want to protect you guys—”

“We can take care of ourselves. You should sit out and eliminate all possibility of those knees getting worse.”

“I – I won’t have this!”

“You won’t have _what_?” Izuki asks dangerously. Damn it all, he is the _ captain,_ and Kiyoshi _w__ill _go with the decision he makes.

“I don’t like this, Shun,” Kiyoshi says instead.

“I don’t like this either. But I have to do it. I’m looking out for all of us – please, Teppei, just understand what I’m saying,” Izuki implores. Kiyoshi’s always been reasonable – maybe he can appeal to that part of him. But he just receives a shake of the head. 

“I _have _to play.” Kiyoshi insists stubbornly.

“You’re not,” Izuki states coldly, giving up. “That’s all. Let’s get to practice; we’ve wasted enough time talking about this.”

Kiyoshi stares at him incredulously for one long moment before storming out.

“Teppei!” Riko calls, but Izuki stops her.

“Leave him be,” he says sharply. “He’ll come around.”

* * *

Kiyoshi _does _eventually come around… after Izuki apologises for being heavy-handed, of course. Exercising his authority like that was wrong, and he has no qualms admitting it. He does so immediately, in fact, with a call once he gets home. Kiyoshi doesn’t pick up – he’s the kind to stay mad for a while.

(Hyūga always picked up when Izuki called.)

Izuki leaves a voicemail explaining everything calmly and saying that while his decision hasn’t changed, he is sorry for behaving the way he did. Kiyoshi apologises too, the next day, and agrees to sit out on two conditions: that they completely wreck Hanamiya, and that not a single one of them gets injured.

Izuki grins.

“That,” he says, “I can manage.”

* * *

The next morning dawns upon Seirin, and along with it the match, too. Hanamiya is as cruel as last year – perhaps more so.

Tsuchida hisses at Kirisaki Daīchi, sending a powerful glare their way. Koganei is equally mad, clenching his fists and scowling. Mitobe steams too, a surprise since he’s usually mild and gentle. Rage boils in Izuki’s own veins and clouds his vision, but he calms himself quickly. Anger would just needlessly cost them the game; his sadistic side should have free reign instead.

Resting Kiyoshi was a good choice. The furious glint in Hanamiya’s eyes as he stares at the brown-haired boy on the bench only serves to heighten Izuki’s own spirits a little more.

A pissed-off opponent is always fun to play with.

“Seirin, _f__ight_!” the team shouts and steps onto the court, fire coursing through their veins. Today, after such a long wait, Seirin will make Kirisaki Daīchi taste the bitterest of defeats.

Ah, revenge is truly a dish best served cold.

* * *

Izuki and Hanamiya face off, each watching the other point guard carefully. Izuki knows that Hanamiya isn’t an Uncrowned King for nothing; he’s got an IQ of nearly 200, which allows him to make the craziest of steals and direct the court quite well. Izuki’s own IQ hovers only a few points below, though, so he’s able to match Hanamiya point for point. Hanamiya can also memorise the pattern of play of an opposing team, but that’s unfortunately not how Seirin works. Izuki keeps his play style extremely flexible, often trying out new things he sees on TV or YouTube just to make sure he isn’t predictable, which carries over to his team since he usually coordinates their attacks.

The only real problem is the cleverness with which Hanamiya and his team foul.

It starts gently with the power forward Hara’s foot on Mitobe’s as he attempts to get the rebound. Izuki steams inwardly but says nothing, instead breaking away from Hanamiya to steal the ball and pass it to Koganei. The shooting guard smartly employs his pseudo-Allen move before the center Matsumoto can stop him and shoots, drawing Seirin level with Kirisaki at 10 – 10 three minutes into the first quarter. Then Kuroko uses his Vanishing Drive and sets up a few clever alley-oops with Kagami, who bullishly pushes past his opponents to score for Seirin.

15 – 12, in their favour.

Hanamiya grinds his teeth angrily but shows no emotion otherwise, offering Izuki a saccharine smile when he looks directly at him. Izuki expects him to up the ante – and he does.

The small forward, Furuhashi, rough-screens Izuki, forcing him to drop the ball, and Hanamiya steals it to shoot immediately. Kirisaki pulls ahead by ten points before Izuki finally overcomes his opponent and makes a steal. No one else can seem to get free from the spiderweb that Kirisaki Daīchi has so cunningly woven; so Izuki flies across the court, Hanamiya on his heels, and flings the ball desperately at the basket from just before the three-point line. It dances teasingly around the rim before dropping in.

25 – 18 in favour of the opponents, and three minutes to go in the first quarter.

Izuki can only pray that Kirisaki doesn’t start to foul too much harder before he finds a way to stop them.

* * *

Seirin is falling behind despite Izuki’s best efforts. Kirisaki Daīchi has effectively caged them in, and because they’re actively trying not to get hurt, they can’t take risks.

43 – 30.

Another basket from Furuhashi.

45 – 30.

Izuki realises just how much breathing space Kiyoshi gave them last time by taking the brunt of the attacks and can’t help a pained glance at their center, sitting forlornly on the bench worrying his lip as the match progresses. He looks like he wants to scream; tears of anxiety gather in the corners of his eyes.

Hara moves to stamp on Kuroko’s leg – the slight boy moves back quickly, though. But Izuki _ sees_, then, Hanamiya pretending to guard Mitobe whilst angling his body in such a way that the ref’s view is completely blocked.

That’s when it hits him. _S__ee_.

All he has to do… is make sure they’re seen.

* * *

They call a time-out, and Riko is ecstatic when he tells her he knows how to beat Kirisaki. Izuki shares his plan quickly with the rest, who nod immediately in assent.

“Leave this completely to me. If it fails, we can call another time-out and come up with something.”

Kiyoshi looks like he wants to say something, but Izuki shuts him up with a glare.

“And _ no_, Teppei, we are _ not _ putting you in.”

“It was worth a try,” his friend laughs affably.

Izuki smiles and continues, “So we’re decided – I’ll draw Kirisaki away with a little bit of help from Kuroko, so the referee can see, and you guys let the lesser fouls land. If you feel that something’s going to hurt you badly, don’t hesitate to step away. Attempts at flagrant fouls are penal violations too, and if the ref doesn’t think that, well, that’s my headache.”

“It’s a good plan,” voices Tsuchida, “but how are you going to get them away?”

“Hopefully by my speed. And remember, we have Seirin’s phantom right here.” He playfully ruffles Kuroko’s hair.

Tsuchida still looks a bit discomfited. “Izuki, I don’t like this. What if they start focusing on you?”

To be honest, he’s been a bit worried about that too. But Izuki doesn’t let it bother him for more than a second, shaking his head quickly.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassures. “I’m faster than the lot of them.”

Tsuchida sighs. “If you’re sure.”

Izuki grins. “Very. Now, shall we get back out there?”

“Yes!” his teammates shout, some of the fire coming back into their eyes. Izuki looks into those eyes, so determined and hopeful – those eyes that _ he _ brought determination and hope into – and he feels vigour well inside his own spirit, too.

“_Seirin, fight!_”

* * *

Izuki watches the set-up of Hanamiya’s players carefully. Of course, Hara and Furuhashi are at their fouling best today, backs to the referee so that they are perfectly positioned to block his view.

That’s exactly what Izuki’s been targeting. He gives the signal, and Mitobe goes to mark Hara, whose arm comes down backwards as he moves to shoot, intending to catch the silent center in the face. Furuhashi moves in front of the referee, blocking his vision.

Then Izuki pops up from behind him and whispers a ‘boo’, making the brown-haired boy stumble without so much as touching him. Furuhashi falls to the ground, having tripped over his own feet at the sudden appearance and clearing the referee’s vision of Izuki and Hara’s battle.

Mitobe twists so that Hara’s elbow clips his chest rather than his chin; such a blow can hurt, and it’s always better to incur less damage. The whistle blows powerfully.

“Flagrant foul, green #10!” shouts the referee, having seen it all. “Basket counts, one free throw!”

Izuki catches Hanamiya’s eye and gives a deadly smile before shooting.

He doesn’t miss.

* * *

The captains face off against each other once more, both calmly assessing the situation as opposed to their teammates’ fast and frantic play.

Izuki knows, personally, that he is a better point guard. Hanamiya’s real strength lies in his intelligence, not his brute power – but that is true for _ all _PGs. Izuki knows that he matches up to the other in terms of mental ability, and far outstrips him in speed. Hanamiya is a little better at directing the court, but the only disadvantage Izuki had last year was the inability to trust himself as a captain. And he’s for the most part gotten over that, so Hanamiya isn’t really a problem as long as Izuki guards him. For now, Hara is currently Kirisaki’s strongest player on the court – and it shouldn’t be too hard to put him out of commission.

_ All I need to do is make sure Hara is seen fouling in that extreme manner once more. _

And Hara comes through perfectly. It’s Koga he tries to hurt, Yamazaki acting as the screen. But Kuroko pops up, stealing the ball from Koga and waving it in Yamazaki’s face. The redhead naturally goes for the ball, leaving Hara’s push in Koganei’s gut and the harsh stomp to the foot perfectly visible to the referee.

“Second flagrant foul, green #10! Hara Kazuya, _ out_! Penalty: three free throws to Seirin High, and Seirin’s ball!”

Koganei doesn’t miss a single one of those three throws. Evening the score out, to 45-all.

As Izuki passes Hanamiya, he can’t help but give him a sly grin.

* * *

Seto is a bit of a challenge. Izuki finds it tough to expose him to the referee – his fouls are too clever and contrived. But they’re also far milder when compared to the rest of his team, meaning that Izuki escapes easily and is able to call out to his teammates when he sees a foul coming. They can't avoid all the fouls and end up with some bruises, but it's nothing compared to what they underwent last year.

Unfortunately, that turns out to be only half the reason Seto has been subbed in.

Izuki passes the ball, expecting it to go straight to Koganei. But Hanamiya – who moved at the _last second _and should in no way have been able to get it_ – _somehow reaches it and slams the ball towards Yamazaki, who scores quickly. 52 – 45, to Kirisaki Daīchi.

“Don’t mind, Captain!” Kagami calls, offering a back slap and that bright smile of his. “Get the next one!”

Izuki scoffs. “Are you so in the zone today that you can tell your senpai what to do?”

Kagami grins sheepishly and is off again. Izuki shakes his head – his junior is right. It’s just one pass.

Still, it bothers him a bit. How did Hanamiya get there? His pass course…

Of _ course_! (That was a good one!) It must have been a little off. It’s strange that he got it wrong, especially _ with _ the Eagle Eye, but never mind. It was a minor slip-up.

The feeling that something, _ someone _messed with his pass niggles in the back of Izuki’s head.

He ignores it and continues to play.

* * *

Izuki pivots quickly on his ankle to send a pass rocketing to Kagami. He looks for possible pass courses and spots one.

As he prepares for the throw, the ball is stolen – for the second time in five minutes.

Shock washes over Izuki like a rogue wave. He’s left standing there, blinking in befuddlement as Hanamiya performs a layup and scores.

59 – 45, to Kirisaki.

_ How – he shouldn’t have been able to—! _

“But I just did,” informs Hanamiya with the same oily smirk Izuki wore for the earlier part of the match. _ God_, it irritates him to see that on the opposition’s face.

Instead of reacting, he clenches his jaw and offers a sweet smile.

His most powerful weapon right now is calmness. If he gets angry, the ball will just be stolen again.

But he can’t help the boiling frustration that bubbles to the surface. It’s so _ overwhelming,_ and suddenly Izuki’s struggling to breathe, kicking against powerful waves to stay afloat of the raging ocean that’s his mind right now. Kirisaki doesn’t even have to foul at this point; they’re just scoring and scoring, and the world starts to tumble around Izuki. He’s choking on his own helplessness, scattered and unable to focus, fighting to stay alive.

_ They can’t lose_.

The halftime whistle shrills sharply throughout the stadium.

68 – 45, to Kirisaki Daīchi; and Seirin’s captain is a complete mess.

* * *

Seirin troops dejectedly back to the changing rooms where Riko seems to be ready with a tongue lashing, but drops it the minute she sees her team’s crestfallen faces.

“I’m not going to say anything,” she tells them instead. “But guys – _ get your heads in the game_. For all our sakes.”

The others nod forlornly. They seem to think there’s no hope.

_ There isn’t any, _ Izuki thinks, placing a hand to his heated face. He feels so _ frazzled _right now, like every nerve in his usually cool head is being fried.

“We…” Kagami says softly, placing a hand on Izuki’s shoulder. “We can bench you and handle this if it’s getting tough, Captain.”

The offer is tempting – but it’s also so inherently _ wrong_. Not just because Izuki is the captain and should be the one to reassure all of them, but because it goes against every fibre of his being. Izuki thrives under pressure; hell, he performs best when he’s stressed! And damn him if he’ll be tossing his responsibility onto the underclassmen’s shoulders.

“I’m fine, actually,” he says, and is surprised to find that he means it.

That’s when a scary calmness settles over Izuki’s mind, and suddenly he feels so _ cool _– literally. The uncomfortable warmth in his chest is replaced by a refreshing lightness, and the fevered flush of his cheeks disappears to reveal his normal pale face. It’s like he was an overheated engine all this time, trying to run off fumes, and he is suddenly seeing the match in his head like it was played by someone else.

_ Was that really me? Playing so sloppily, just now? _he wonders at his own carelessness.

That pass should have been perfect, but he wasn’t in the game. He was trying so hard to focus that he wasn’t able to actually focus at all, and it seems that he hadn’t quite let go of all the rage he’d felt seeing Hanamiya and his disgusting team foul again and again. Now, however, his eyes glow with a new light that’s not just the Eagle Eye but something else; and suddenly he sees _ exactly _what Seto is doing.

The dark-haired center isn’t particularly powerful and doesn’t play an active role in the game. What he _ does _ do is predict the range of all possible pass courses within a few milliseconds, and quick as lightning block at least two of them. This, in turn, allows Hanamiya more freedom to play to his strengths, since Seto narrows the range of passes to make stealing easier.

Izuki sits up straighter, legs automatically shifting into a fighter’s stance, steadying himself down to his core. He breathes in and out, slapping his cheeks harshly. Two red handprints glow there like beacons, and he feels fresh despite the sting. Or maybe it’s because of it.

The entire team stares at him in shock, the sudden sound scaring them. But Riko just sounds fondly exasperated when she asks, “Were you even listening to a word of what I just said?”

Izuki shakes his head and grins guilelessly. “Sorry,” he apologises. “I think I just found a way to beat them.”

Kiyoshi frowns. “But you said that earlier on in the game.”

Izuki laughs. “That was the way to beat them then. This is the way to defeat them now.”

He quickly explains Seto’s influence on the passes, but the rest of the team stares at him, still unconvinced. Izuki stands and draws himself up straighter, projecting the confidence he’s feeling to the entirety of Seirin.

“Do you trust me as your captain?” he asks.

The team exchange a few doubtful glances, but there’s some fire coming back into their eyes at the affirmation that Izuki is indeed a reliable captain, and that they can leave it to him to get them to win.

Still, there’s complete silence. Not one raises their voice to agree with him. They’ll have to do better than that.

“I _said_, do you **_trust me_** as **_your_** **_CAPTAIN_**?!” he roars. There’s no sign of humour or even the friendly look on his face now – all that rests there is diamond-hard, razor-sharp seriousness.

“Yes, sir!” come nine voices all blended together. Izuki looks each one of them dead in the eye and is pleased to find the same seriousness and focus reflected back on their faces.

“Then what are we waiting for? Ten minutes will be up soon! Let’s _ go_, Seirin!”

* * *

Hanamiya seems still cocky when they get back on the court.

“Where’s that shocked dejection you were sporting earlier?” he whispers, passing Izuki to get to his position. “I miss it! It’s fun to see your spirits shattered!”

“We aren’t old enough to drink, and besides, you can’t break liquids.”

Hanamiya raises an eyebrow. “Eh?”

“You want to shatter our spirits – well, none of us can legally buy alcohol yet, and you can’t break a liquid, Makoto-kun, really. Were you paying any attention in middle school physics at all?”

Hanamiya splutters. “You fucking fool.”

“It’s ‘you’re’, and there should be an ‘a’ before the ‘fool’,” Izuki corrects airily. “Besides, I have no plans to fornicate with an idiot. Unless they’re really hot,” he adds as an afterthought, cocking his head in contemplation.

Hanamiya rolls his eyes. “Joke all you want, pretty boy. We’re going to crush you anyway, might as well keep yourselves a little happy before we do. It’ll make it all the more fun to break you.”

_ No thanks. We’ve got you figured out – there’s no way we’re losing now. _

* * *

Normally Izuki would apply his plan as soon as possible, but this isn’t the time to show that they’ve found Kirisaki out. Hanamiya is quick enough to come up with a strategy in that time, which will probably kill all Seirin’s chances in this match. No, they should strike in the next quarter and work on catching up to the other team for now.

Luckily for Seirin, their #6 is sort of an expert in that field.

Koganei might be a great shooter in general, but he particularly excels in the area of catching up. Being behind, in an odd way, seems almost to _ motivate _him to equalise the score with a few well-placed threes. Izuki is blown away every time he looks at the guy – for someone who just started basketball in high school and only began to love the sport halfway into his first year, Koganei is truly talented (especially considering that Ray Allen’s shooting form is near impossible to master in a lifetime, let alone six months).

Seto’s subbed out for Matsumoto – apparently Hanamiya thinks he won’t need the slick-haired boy for this quarter, with the crazy lead they’ve got.

That’s the first mistake he makes.

Izuki passes to Koganei high and over Hanamiya’s head, much like one of Midorima’s shots. Koga makes the basket with sublime ease, even smiling a little as he does so.

68 – 48.

The ball’s with Yamazaki, to whom Izuki is close enough to steal quickly. He passes to Kuroko, who tosses it high and near the basket. It’s a shot that will clearly miss—

Unless, of course, it isn’t a shot at all.

Kagami leaps and dunks cleanly, scoring another two points for Seirin. 68 – 50: a gap they can easily close by the end of the third quarter, especially with their shooting guard.

Koganei delivers shot after stunning shot, the team passing to him whenever possible. It’d be impossible for Kirisaki _ not _ to get in a point edgewise, and they do; but Seirin obliterates their lead, Koga spearheading the attack and scoring nearly twenty points all on his own.

Cold sweat drips down Hanamiya’s face, and he seems too panicked to think. He’s a control-type, Izuki realises. When he has the game under his influence, it’s tough to rattle him; but put him under pressure by letting him get cocky, revise the score in that moment of weakness, and he’ll start to fall apart without a break to collect himself.

The whistle for the end of the quarter blows, the scoreboard reading 73-all.

_ Perfect_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments make a blob happy~


	5. spreading new wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Repost: 14.08.20  
chapter song: what better than our very own izuki's character song, [Tatta Hitotsu no Hibi](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pfTiNjrUJOo)? it perfectly symbolises how seirin isn't gonna throw the towel in, and is looking toward new horizons!

The fourth quarter begins with Seto back in, his smirk wider than ever. Hanamiya seems to be confident in the same strategy, grinning at Izuki. The five-minute break has apparently been enough to make him calm and comfortable with the situation again.

That’s the second mistake – getting comfortable.

Izuki smiles and grabs the ball, dribbling carefully. Seto shows up behind Hanamiya as usual, but this time Izuki doesn't panic. Instead, he turns the Eagle Eye on and carefully observes all possible courses of passing.

He isn't thinking only from his own viewpoint; no, he has to get into Hanamiya’s and Seto's heads too. What is Hanamiya thinking? What is Seto thinking? What is the most likely course to steal from?

Izuki’s Eye singles out a spot near Koganei, and it washes over him like a rogue wave. 

Hanamiya Makoto is a _ genius_. Of course if Izuki were in his position, he would expect himself to pass there, Hanamiya and Seto blocking the routes to Kuroko and Mitobe.

Izuki releases the ball in Koganei's direction. Hanamiya laughs out loud and streaks forward to make the steal, but Izuki's faster.

He steals his own steal, flicking the ball towards Mitobe in true Kuroko fashion before Hanamiya can get to it. Mitobe’s clever hook shot sweetens the deal, landing Seirin two points and pulling the score to 75 – 73.

Objectively, it's nothing great. But subjectively it's a start – and that start is the lynchpin for Seirin to win this game, both physically and mentally.

* * *

Izuki's 'stealing your own steal' idea works quite a few times, but he doesn't expect it to hold up forever. Hanamiya is very similar to him solely with regard to their thinking skills – both use the same kind of logic, cancelling each other out on the court. Only the difference in their mental fortitudes at a given point in time can decide a clear winner.

In short, this game is no longer a battle of teams, but a mental one-on-one between Izuki and Hanamiya.

Hanamiya is currently in possession of the ball as they face off on the half-court line. Izuki watches him dribble, noting the pattern of his bounces and just waiting to pounce. Hanamiya attempts to make a break for it, but Izuki trails alongside like a particularly stubborn leech. They dance around for a bit, Hanamiya trying to play with Izuki by doing a few fancy crossovers. Izuki doesn't fall for any of them; he just smiles and performs some pretty footwork so as to keep balance and not lose the ball.

_ When will you break? _ the two captains ask each other. _When will you break? _

They're both tired – this game has been exhausting for both sides. But Hanamiya has been the one running all over the court to make his steals, and those crossovers not working serve only to weaken his mental state by a fraction, one that he probably doesn't even notice.

It's enough for Izuki, however. Enough to be the moment he's been waiting for.

Hanamiya's face doesn't reflect anything, but there's a mild slump to his shoulders only noticeable on careful observation. He’s weakening slowly, the game taking a toll on him in all manners possible. Izuki reads his body language and realises Hanamiya's _ this _ close to losing control completely.

_ You'll falter, right about… now! _

The ball goes down and spirals a tad more to the left than Hanamiya intended. His hands come up to dribble twice as quickly, afraid of slipping up at this crucial moment.

_ You're scared now, after making all the mistakes we needed you to? _

Hanamiya dribbles softly this time, scared of losing control. The ball goes slowly downwards.

_ That fear is your undoing! _

Izuki flicks away the basketball in the split second before it hits the floor, thanking all his stars that Riko got him to hone his reaction time further. The Izuki of a few months ago couldn't have managed this if he'd tried.

But the Izuki of now can, and that's who matters.

He passes to Kagami, placing full faith in their ace to score; and Kagami doesn't fail. He easily breaks away from Yamazaki, who, while strong, cannot hold a candle to his sheer jumping power. Kagami grabs the pass while in mid-air and runs like hell for the basket, shaking off the defenders chasing him as if they're pesky flies. Then he dunks powerfully, incrementing the score once more to 77 – 73.

Then Kagami begins to produce dunk after insane dunk, almost gleaming with his brilliance. Kuroko shines too in his own quiet way, the silent shadow that fills all Seirin’s gaps and exacerbates Kirisaki’s. Their sudden spirit flows over to the rest of the team, and they fall in perfect sync too.

"You're not going to ruin anyone's dreams again!" Kuroko tells Hanamiya, making a spot-on pass to Kagami, who scores. 85 – 78, to Seirin. This powerful promise, added to the points just scored, is like rubbing salt into Hanamiya's wounds.

Fury crests over Hanamiya’s face, and Izuki knows what’s going to happen just a second before it does. He passes the ball and _ moves _ before he can think, pulling Kuroko away from the foot that was about to come down on his leg and possibly ruin his basketball future.

Then he realises his mark, Seto, has moved after him on instinct, trained to trail the player he’s marking like a persistent dog – leaving Hanamiya wide open to the referee’s view.

The whistle blows.

“Green #4! Attempt to cause debilitating injury to white #11!” calls the referee, face twisted with rage. “Basket counts, one throw!”

Kuroko has to take the shot. Of course, he misses, but Mitobe easily gets the rebound. He passes to Kagami, who scores quickly. Hanamiya’s team doesn’t move to stop them with desperate rough play; they can’t, because Kirisaki will be disqualified if they try to pull another foul. The ref will have a hawk’s eye on them now (oh, Izuki wishes Takao were the referee just for the pun).

However good Hanamiya is, he's useless under pressure. Seto isn't that great when it comes to actual basketball, and three okay players against five good ones can only spell disaster for Kirisaki. Seirin cruises easily past them with a final score of 96 – 81.

Izuki makes direct eye contact with Hanamiya, allowing a smirk to cut across his face, and flashes him a thumbs-down.

_ You lose… bitch. _

* * *

Only after walking off the court does it strike him that he never once looked for Hyūga in the stands today.

* * *

Kiyoshi crushes Izuki in a hug after he's changed out of his sweaty and smelly jersey.

"Thanks, Shun," he whispers. "You did everything I asked of you. I never should've doubted you as a captain."

"Nah, I'm glad you did, Teppei," Izuki replies honestly, removing himself with some difficulty from his _ vice _ -captain's _ vise _ grip. (See what he did there?) "If you guys hadn't questioned me, I wouldn't have realised my self-doubt was so clear, and I wouldn't have got the confidence to whip you idiots into shape." Kiyoshi laughs. 

"I love how you always put a positive spin on things."

"It's better to think about what you learned than mull over what went wrong; there's always something to learn from every experience in life. Like how I just learned that I should never hug you again because you nearly crushed my windpipe." Kiyoshi looks both crestfallen and apologetic at that.

"I'm sorry, Shun. Apology hug? I won't crush you this time, I swear!" Izuki laughs and indulges his friend with a light embrace.

“Come on," he says with a spark in his eyes. "We’re heading to the Winter Cup!"

* * *

Riko, seemingly indulgent today, decides that a trip to the hot springs is in order. Seirin agrees eagerly, excited at the thought of getting a bit of downtime after these harsh few months. However, Izuki just about loses it when he hears of Koganei's "brilliant" idea of peeping into the girls' side of the_ onsen_. He settles for a firm "No," and tells Koga in no uncertain terms not to go through with it. The shooting guard, however, keeps blathering on.

"You don't care because you have those eyes! You can even peep from there!" Koganei whines.

"That's_ not_ what they're for," Izuki says coldly and pins his friend with a death glare. He hates when men are so ready to disrespect a lady's privacy – though that's probably a product of his upbringing. Growing up in a house with three girls, the only possible male role model being a complete dickwad, gives you some respect for female fortitude and strength of character.

(All right, so he_ might _ have picked up the "female fortitude" thing from that feminism book of his sister's, but that doesn't mean it isn't true.)

Tōō's sudden appearance is a little shocking, but on the whole, Izuki finds himself strangely able to relax around them. He can trust himself not to trust them, he supposes; they seem untrustworthy enough that he's automatically far more guarded than before, Imayoshi particularly. The other captain still gives Izuki bad vibes, and his creepy smile doesn't help.

"You hold yourself like a real captain now," he says to Izuki when they're drying themselves off. Unfortunately, Imayoshi seems to have chosen to follow him around till they leave the hot springs (he hopes, he doesn't need to end up being stalked).

"Thanks?" Izuki says and eyes him cautiously. Imayoshi's face doesn't bely a thing at first glance, but taking a closer look, he can clearly see the impressed look in the crease of Imayoshi's eyebrows and the sly warning underneath it that Tōō is no slouch, either.

"Sure, Shun-chan." Imayoshi grins. "I can't wait to play you again; you seem like you've grown well. We’re meeting soon, after all; I look forward to it!"

"Soon?" Izuki quirks an eyebrow, barely even bothered over the nickname. Anticipation mixed with a dash of dread starts to build in his chest.

_ Could it be… our first opponent… but, so soon? Are we even ready? _

Imayoshi dips his chin with a smile. "I see you've figured it out already. Just to cement it, though… we're your first match this Winter Cup."

Izuki's stomach drops, then, but not with fear. It's _ excitement _ that fills him up and makes his fingertips tingle.

_ I don't know about us all being ready. But I do know that _ ** _I_ ** _ am. _

"I look forward to it, too," he replies with a smile, stretching out a hand to shake Imayoshi's. The older boy has a firm grip, but not so tight that he leaves Izuki's hand pink like Hanamiya did.

"We'll see you, then." Imayoshi smiles back and leaves. And is that just him, or was that a hint of _ sincerity _in the other’s tone?

* * *

"Right, Seirin!" Izuki bellows, climbing onto the podium at the front of the practice court. "As you know, I was talking with Imayoshi-_ san _ at the _ onsen_, and guess what?"

"What?" Tsuchida asks carefully, knowing Izuki's penchant for dropping news on people like an anvil and acting like it's nothing.

"We're playing Tōō next week!" Izuki announces cheerfully.

"**_W_****_HAT?!_**" comes the shocked screech from the nine remaining members. Tsuchida just sighs and shakes his head. Riko, who probably found out from Tōō's very pink manager, smirks at them and joins him on the podium.

"Right!" she says. "So we don't have time to be doing things like, I don't know, _ peeping on girls_!" Her hard gaze falls on Koganei, who squirms. Izuki can't help a laugh, and Seirin joins him.

"So mean!" Koga whines, pouting at all of them, who ignore him and continue to chuckle.

"Anyway," Riko says, Izuki jumping down to let her take centre stage, "I expect _ all _ of you to be at the top of your game! This time, we _ will _ win! No questions, no excuses! We're stronger individuals, and our teamwork is as good as ever – if not better! I believe in the boys I coach, so you should too!"

Ah, Izuki loves that girl. If he's Seirin's lifeline, then she's their candle that lights up their goal and gives them the hope and resource to reach it. She's like a big sister to this herd of basketball idiots.

"We believe in you, too, Coach!" Izuki shouts before he can stop himself. "You’re the one who brought us this far. Thank you!"

The entirety of Seirin follows his lead and bows deeply to Riko, thanking her profusely. A pleasant flush colours her cheeks, and her eyes fill with happy tears.

"Th – thank me after we win!" she scolds, but she's shining with pride and happiness.

Izuki thinks she deserves every single bit of it.

* * *

Their mountain camp is set in the one-month break between the prelims and the actual Winter Cup. It is just as tough as the beach camp, if not worse. Luckily, Riko’s father is here to double the amount of torture Seirin is bound to undergo. (Please note the intense sarcasm Izuki employs with that particular statement.)

“Captain Cutie!” he starts sharply, pointing at Izuki, who sweat-drops at the stupid nickname. “You’re the lifeline of the damn team. Look a little more alive, will you?!”

He sounds rather like Izuki’s mother, who subscribes to the ‘tough love’ book more than religiously. Still, Kagetora is right – he should look more actively interested in this training. If Seirin is going to win, they have got to give it everything they have. And how can they do that if their captain doesn’t lead by example?

“Yes, sir,” he says quietly but firmly, straightening his back and bringing some life into his face. “What problem’s most glaringly obvious about my play?”

Kagetora raises an eyebrow, smirk tugging at his lips. Well, who would’ve known? He actually does resemble his daughter when he does that, for all they’re different in personality.

“Direct, are we? Well, I suppose that kind of courage warrants a proper answer. You, Cutie, you’re good. You’ve got excellent technique and ball-handling, you’re decisive – all you really need is a little more faith in yourself. Trust your choices and don’t doubt that they’re right.”

“I don’t really question myself on the court,” Izuki says. “I’m a point guard, so I’m used to directing the flow of the game and making decisions when need be.” 

Kagetora nods. “True, but you aren’t used to being a captain, are you?”

It’s Izuki’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Is it that obvious?”

“To a former pro? Absolutely. You’re worried about being too heavy-handed with your team. But that’s your job – you need to kick their asses into action.”

Said asses choose that moment to collectively whine, “We’re right here!” Simultaneous glares from Izuki and Kagetora shut them up instantly.

“You were saying, sir?”

“You need to work on trusting yourself to lead, Cutie. That, and your reaction time. It’s quicker than most, sure, but put some more of your back into it and see how far you go. Practise those two things and I might have a move which’ll work with that nifty eye of yours.”

A thrill of anticipation courses up Izuki’s spine at the idea of a new Eagle Eye move.

_ Hard work, huh? Lucky for me, that’s exactly what I specialise in. _

* * *

The new move Kagetora teaches Izuki is called Eagle Spear. And it’s a pretty damn cool one, if he does say so himself.

It takes a lot of practice, as is expected. Izuki isn’t adept like Kagami, who can pick up moves just by watching long enough. He needs to run over it several times, getting the feel of it, how his muscles have to move to perfect it. But when he _ does _get it right, he’ll never forget how.

Eagle Spear is a simple thing. The catch is that it’s a back tip. That’s where Izuki’s Eagle Eye comes in, though. With his vision of any side of the court he chooses and the reaction time he’s sharpened, it’s only the tipping motion itself that he really has to practise. A week into the mountain camp, he’s got it down pat.

They’re split up into teams: Kawahara, Kuroko, Izuki, and Mitobe versus Furihata, Fukuda, Kiyoshi, and Koganei, the latter group behind by a margin of a few points. Kagami’s absence is felt keenly, but Furihata more than makes up for it by demonstrating how well he’s taken to Izuki’s Point Guard Pointers – oh, that was a good one!

Fukuda and Kawahara are getting there too, but none of the other first-years are as good as their second-year mentors. It’s mainly Koganei with his new Barrier Jumper and Kiyoshi who keep them afloat. Still, the first-years’ ability to keep up just shows their tenacity despite never actually having played in a game.

Kiyoshi drives inward. He’s powerful, and Izuki usually has a hard time stopping his drives; but now he doesn’t need to.

“Watch where you put your balls,” he murmurs, hand stabbing backwards to where he knows the ball is. "_K__itakore_!”

The ball makes contact with his fingertips and bounces right out of Kiyoshi’s hands. Kuroko swoops swiftly in for the kill, passing to Furihata, who shoots and thankfully doesn't miss.

“_Shun_!” Kiyoshi sounds more enthralled than frustrated or shocked at how accurately Izuki targeted his drive. “What _ was _ that?!”

“That,” Izuki says, wiping sweat from his forehead, “was what I’ve been working on this whole camp.”

“The Eagle Spear?” Kiyoshi asks, eyes inquisitive.

Izuki nods. “Yep. And I think it’s going to be pretty useful.”

“You _ think_?!” Koganei says incredulously, slapping Izuki on the back. “That’s _ crazy _cool! No one will be expecting it!”

“Expect the unexpected,” Izuki says out loud, more to himself than his teammates. “Every team trains with that in mind. We can’t afford to go in cocky.”

“When did you get so hardcore?” Riko asks with a smirk on her lips. “And when did I say you could call a time-out?”

The team gulps and immediately returns to their game. They play a few more after that and change sides, Izuki’s team winning each time; the Eagle Spear comes in very handy, and he’s even able to steal from Kuroko, who just gapes at him in shock.

_ Oh,_ he wouldn’t trade the euphoria of a new move working for anything. When your effort comes to fruition, it’s the most blissful thing.

He pictures how the Hyūga of old would have _ jumped _at the chance to learn the Barrier Jumper and smiles at the pun, relishing the nostalgia that the thought of his once-friend brings.

* * *

The winter training camp has shaped Seirin up nicely, and they walk with more confidence than before. Izuki almost wishes they could stay a few more days and soak up whatever knowledge possible, but they _ do _ have to play in the Winter Cup.

All too soon, the day of judgment arrives, and Seirin convenes in the gym one last time before they head off to the Winter Cup building. No one says anything; not Kagami, fresh from his training trip to America, not Izuki, not Kiyoshi or Riko. They simply stand there, breathing in the scent of cleaner and leather and something else that’s so entirely _ Seirin_, and knowing that no matter what happens this Winter Cup, they will return to the gym different people than they were before.

Different, and better.

Then they head out and off to the opening ceremony of the Winter Cup, not looking back once as they do.

* * *

“Akashi-kun’s summoned me to the back gate of the stadium,” Kuroko says when they reach the building, checking his phone that has just dinged with an email notification. “I’ve got to go.”

Izuki raises an eyebrow and carefully veils his irritation as he asks, “Oh?”

Kuroko nods. “I’ll see you, senpai.”

“What do you _ mean_, I’ll see you?” says Izuki, this time allowing some of his anger to leak into his voice as a dark undertone. His face, however, is perfectly calm, and he doesn’t miss the way his entire team blanches at it.

Kuroko looks uncomfortable. “I - well - one does not just ignore a summons from Akashi-kun.”

“Summons, is that it?” Izuki asks, his eyes going colder than the most frigid winter as he draws himself up to his full height of one hundred seventy-four centimetres. He’s got a full two inches on Kuroko, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t use them. It’s for a good cause, after all. Kuroko shivers, and Izuki hates himself a little for putting that pale look on his underclassman’s face, but it has to be done.

“Yes,” Kuroko says bravely, despite the fact that his face is white from the withering look Izuki is giving him.

“Ah, I see. So your old captain holds higher regard in your heart than your new one,” Izuki replies.

Kuroko blanches further, if that’s even possible. “I - it’s not like that—”

Izuki’s face softens at the look in Kuroko’s eyes. He places a gentle hand on Kuroko’s shoulder and offers his kindest smile, the coldness in his eyes gone momentarily.

“I know. But I don’t want you to go,” he tells him softly. Kuroko peels Izuki’s hand off his shoulder and sighs. 

“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I promise.” Izuki isn’t so sure, but he gives in. 

“All right,” he caves. “But if so much as a hair on your body is out of place…” Kuroko nods quickly. 

“I’ll stay safe, senpai,” he says hurriedly and rushes off. Kagami stretches and grins. 

“I’ll go after him; I want to see what Akashi’s like,” he volunteers, and before Izuki can say anything, he’s gone off after Kuroko, hurtling past the doors of the stadium. Izuki sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Kids these days,” he mutters to no one in particular, feeling far older than he should.

* * *

Kagami returns shaken, pale, and with a cut on his face.

“What. Happened,” says Izuki, voice cool and deadly; it’s not a question. Kagami flinches.

“Akashicutme,” he says hurriedly.

“I’m sorry, _ what_? I didn’t quite get you there.”

“Akashi cut me,” Kagami whispers, looking down at the ground.

Rage rises in Izuki’s throat. He feels his face ease out into a cold, emotionless mask, eyes going frigid and dead.

_ How _ ** _dare _ ** _ he hurt MY UNDERCLASSMAN?! _

“Kagami,” he says tonelessly, clapping Kagami on the shoulder. He intends to spit a few choice words about Akashi, or even better go and thrash the brat, but he finds himself saying, “Let’s clean that cut up. Our first match is against Tōō - we want to beat Aomine, right?”

Of course. Changing the subject is what’s good for him - and for Seirin - right now. It won’t be good if Izuki loses his cool. Pulverising Akashi can come later; they’ve got to get Aomine out of the way first.

The warmth returns to Izuki’s chest, and the smile comes back to his face. He finds more than just motivation to win, suddenly - now there’s also an intense desire to utterly crush Akashi.

Kagami nods. “Yes, senpai.”

As Izuki watches Riko dab the cut with Dettol, he can’t help an unpleasant smile. Oh, Rakuzan is going to be _ obliterated _ \- but first comes Tōō. A match long overdue, and one both teams have never been readier for.

* * *

“It’s Tōō Academy versus Seirin!” gushes a girl to her friend.

“I can’t wait. Aomine is _ amazing_,” replies the friend, her eyes shining in the same way. “I want Seirin to put up a good fight, but they won’t win. You can’t beat Aomine Daiki. Still, a close match would be nice.”

He presses his lips together and pushes his glasses up to stop himself from laughing out loud. Like _ hell _ Seirin can’t beat Aomine Daiki - their team is five times better than Tōō’s, and he’s sure they haven’t made waste of a single opportunity to improve over the past few months.

“Yeah,” agrees the first girl. “I’m sure that Aomine will shine once more. I can’t wait for his and Kagami’s showdown - I bet Aomine’s going to thrash him!”

This time, he can’t help the smirk that etches itself onto his face, nor the snort of laughter that comes out of his mouth.

“One player doesn’t make a whole team. I learned that the hard way, and Tōō will, too,” he says airily, waving a hand as he walks past the girls. “You’ll see. Seirin will win this match for sure.” The girls goggle at his back, stunned by his rudeness, but he doesn’t turn back. 

He knows he’s right.

* * *

“Right, Seirin,” Izuki clears his throat, facing his team who stand patiently outside the stadium, waiting expectantly for his speech. “Last time, we lost to Tōō.”

“Great way to start a pep talk, captain,” pipes up Furihata, the sarcastic little shit whose savage side has begun to show itself more often. Izuki ignores him in a very dignified manner and continues. 

“It doesn’t mean we sucked. In fact, I’d say we were pretty brilliant on that court. The fact remains that Tōō was simply _ better_.”

“If this is your version of a motivational speech, Izuki-kun…” begins Riko, a little glint in her eyes.

“Oh, no worries. The actual motivational part is coming. Anyway, as I was saying – Tōō was just better than us that day. It’s hard to admit, I know: far easier to blame yourself, say you didn’t give it your all, but you know; we _ all _ know. It was their day to shine, not ours. But I think we’ve worked hard enough and are in a good enough mindset to change that, _ today_. We aren’t scared or apprehensive about Tōō and Aomine, because we’ve faced them before. We _ know _ what attitude they’ll walk into our game with, and that’s what we’re going to exploit!”

“_Y__ou’re _ going to exploit,” corrects Tsuchida. “Unlike you, the rest of us aren’t manipulative bastards.”

That raises a bunch of cackles, which quiet down when Izuki gives his team a glare. It doesn’t work on Riko, however, who sniggers under her breath and smirks at him.

“I don’t know if Tōō is any better or any worse. I don’t know for sure who’ll come out on top. But what I do know is that _ my _ team isn’t the kind of team to lose twice,” he goes on, and this time there’s fire in his tone.

“Today, Seirin rises, and today, we fight!”

There’s stunned silence for a few beats.

And then the entire team starts to applaud.

Riko’s grinning from ear to ear. Kiyoshi’s palms are red from clapping so hard. Kuroko and Furihata hoot together – the two smallest members of the team turn out to have the loudest voices. Kawahara stands up and wolf-whistles along with Kagami.

“We believe in you too, Captain!” cries Fukuda, Tsuchida nodding in agreement.

Izuki can’t help the pleased blush that blooms on his cheeks. He stares at the floor and scratches the back of his neck.

“…Thanks, guys.”

Kiyoshi gets up and slaps him powerfully on the back. “Where’s all that captain’s attitude you were showing off just now? Hold your head high, for gods’ sakes!”

He’s right. Izuki lifts his head from the floor, blush gone. He looks each member of Seirin directly in the eyes and gives them a confident smirk.

Then he raises a hand and beckons his team. “Let’s go, Seirin!”

“Yosh!” is the collective cry as they follow him into the stadium.

This time, Seirin is not going to lose. Not because they’re stronger, but because they’re determined to be _ better _ than the other team.

* * *

Aomine bumps into Seirin as they make their way inside. 

“Oh. It’s you,” he sneers.

Izuki replies, in the mood to be snarky, “No, it’s a bunch of extraterrestrial aliens that took our bodies.”

“Seriously? Maybe those will actually be a challenge.” Aomine grins. His eyes are guileless and _ happy_, and Izuki chokes on realisation.

“You – you – you _ actually believed me_?!” he wheezes, doubling over and banging at the wall.

Aomine looks crushed. “What? You were joking? Damn, I was actually starting to look forward to this match!”

“Don’t worry,” Tsuchida speaks before Izuki can retort, wearing a resolute look. “Our captain will deal with you as well as those aliens would.”

Aomine raises an eyebrow. “Deal with me? You couldn’t do shit on the court the last match, and all this bravado off it?”

Izuki meets Aomine’s gaze with chilling fury. “Just so you know,” he says quietly, “we lost, last time.”

“Yeah, I know.” Aomine eyes him oddly.

Izuki smiles, then, as rabid and bloodthirsty as a starving eagle.

“Good,” he replies. “Because you should know – once you defeat someone, they’re going to come back twice as hungry for victory.”

And he leaves, jacket billowing a little behind him. It’s all very dramatic, just like something on TV. Izuki feels Aomine’s stunned gaze on his back as he walks away, hands in his pockets, strolling casually as his team follows.

_ Perfect_.

* * *

All too soon, it’s time for the actual match.

“I’m kind of worried,” Furihata says, hanging back as Seirin walks through the hallways towards the court.

“What about?” Izuki asks, a little concerned.

“That I’m not scared,” Furihata finishes nervously. “I don’t know, I feel like I _ should _ be since we lost. But I’m not – I’m just sure that we’re going to give it our all, and I don’t even care about the outcome. And… and I feel like that’s wrong!”

_ Oh. _ Of _ course _ that’s what Seirin’s resident worrywart would be hesitant about.

“I had the same fears when I found out we were playing Tōō,” Izuki says truthfully. “You’re scared that we think we’re ready, but we might not be?”

“Yeah.” Furihata looks a little pale. Izuki claps his shoulder gently and smiles.

“Well, last time, guess what? I didn’t think we were ready to defeat Aomine, and neither did most of our team. That was a contributing factor to why we lost – we weren’t confident enough. But I know that we have the self-assurance to beat Tōō now. Midorima’s right, in a way. We do what we can and have utmost faith in our readiness. The rest will fall into place as long as you do as much as you are able to. The only sin is not giving it your everything!”

“Wow, Captain,” Furihata says, colour returning to his face. “You’ve gotten really good at giving pep talks.”

Izuki scowls in mock offence, then turns his head forwards as the court comes into full view. Tōō walks out dramatically from their own locker room, dressed in their red and black, the perfect foil to Seirin. Imayoshi isn’t smiling; his face is serious, and his eyebrows are dipped into a concentrated frown. Clearly, he realises the extent of Seirin’s newly acquired strength and is wary of it.

_ Good. Let him be apprehensive. _

Shoulders down, chin a little higher. Izuki walks forwards, ‘Shun’ disappearing and ‘Seirin’s captain’ taking his place. The teams line up and shake hands.

“I look forward to your loss,” Imayoshi notes, his smile back.

“I’m not sure how to respond to that,” Izuki jokes. He knows very well what he wants to say and it’s something along the lines of “You should look back, since our loss is only in the past,” but he also knows that Imayoshi is just looking for an opportunity to rile him up and will pounce on the first sign Izuki shows of weakness or frustration.

It’s the game he played with Hanamiya, but on a higher level. But instead of trepidation, Izuki feels excitement.

_ Damn… am I seriously looking forward to this? Playing twisted mind games? _

Deep down inside, he recognises that he’s always known the answer to that. And he’s surprisingly okay with it.

Aomine’s there from the start this time. He claps Kagami on the back and tells him, “Your captain’s pluck made sure I’d look forward to this, so you better at least give me a good damn game before you lose.”

“I don’t know who’s going to win, but I know that we’re determined to make you lose,” Kagami tells him squarely. “Bring on everything you’ve got. I have no intention of making this easy for you.”

Aomine smirks.

“That’s the spirit.”

* * *

“Make like you’re taking the first point,” Riko instructs. “If you do, that’s great – it’ll boost morale. If you don’t, that’s okay too. Momoi will probably be expecting us to try to score and will do her best to stop us. So don’t lose hope if we lose the first point!”

“Nice one, Coach,” Izuki can’t resist telling her. Riko rolls her eyes but laughs a little.

“Sure, whatever. Now get out there and win this game!”

Seirin huddles together and does the usual cheer, then runs out onto the court, filled with vigour. Izuki breathes in and lets his own excitement dissipate before the game starts, however – the control tower’s job is to stay calm and allow his team to go crazy, not to get all fired up himself.

As Riko anticipated, Momoi predicted that they’d go for the first point. Wakamatsu purposely lets Kiyoshi win the tip-off, and the ball comes into Izuki’s hands.

_ Just because your opponent is prepared doesn’t mean you can’t beat them. We’re taking this first point and they aren’t going to stop us. _

Izuki zips up the court, going as fast as he can – he isn’t taking any chances, not today. Tōō tries to put a pressure defence on him, but he’s easily faster than all of them save Aomine, who keeps up with a little bit of difficulty. It makes Izuki want to laugh – _ he _ is outmatching a member of the Miracles in a physical ability?

Still, he knows that he can’t fight Aomine head-on. The blue-haired boy’s movements are too fluid for even Izuki to follow, much less keep up with – trying to score would be pointless. He _ needs _to pass.

Izuki goes for the fast break once more, but this time in the opposite direction. Aomine is stunned for a second, then follows – but he’s too late. Izuki’s already passed to Koganei, positioned perfectly on the outside, just _ waiting _ for his chance.

The shot makes the basket neatly, 3 – 0. Izuki feels a sudden change in the tension around the players: Seirin’s morale leaps and Tōō’s dips slightly.

“Ah, you feel it too?” Imayoshi is smiling, his typical creepy grin. “Things are just starting to get interesting.”

Izuki smiles back. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

* * *

The second point will be taken by them, too. Izuki is determined to keep Tōō boxed in, and gives Kuroko the signal.

The small boy slams the ball across the court with a flash that looks like a tornado. (Honestly, Izuki isn’t even sure anymore if this is basketball or some magic show with all the light and sound effects it produces.)

It blows past a stunned Aomine, whose hand is knocked powerfully away by the sheer strength in that pass. He can do nothing but stare dumbfoundedly as the ball rockets across the court.

Kiyoshi catches the pass – which, by his wince, seems to have scraped at least three layers of skin off his hand – and goes for the dunk. Wakamatsu is ready, however, and jumps for the block; but he doesn’t anticipate Kiyoshi’s Right of Postponement. (Izuki will never not find that funny – Kiyoshi’s ‘cool power’ is _ literally _ that he has yaoi hands.)

Kiyoshi flicks the ball to Kagami, who dunks spiritedly; Wakamatsu has already reached the ground and clenches his jaw in irritation. He grabs the ball and immediately sends it Imayoshi’s way. The captain and Izuki face off, then Imayoshi breaks away and passes. Izuki follows on his heels and attempts to steal, but it’s an overhead pass, _ curse his height_, that flies to Susa, who is being guarded by Kuroko. Susa performs a dunk, scoring Tōō’s first point today.

_ Smart. He made the overhead pass specifically so that neither Kuroko nor I would be able to catch it. _

Not for the first time, Izuki is a little more than impressed by Tōō’s wily captain.

* * *

Four minutes into the first quarter, the score is 7 – 6 to Seirin.

Kuroko’s Ignite Pass Kai _ blew _ them all away once more when it _ blew _past Aomine’s outstretched hand (nice one!) and went directly to Kagami, who didn’t miss the opportunity to score. Though, his hands did seem a little sore afterwards - Izuki’s sure even Kagami isn’t immune to Kuroko’s insane passes. Seirin keeps their momentum up; though, as expected, Tōō stays on their heels, never letting them get a lead too large.

Kiyoshi steals the ball and passes to Kagami, facing off against Aomine. Kagami dribbles the ball, staring at Aomine for what feels like a full two minutes. He seems to be calculating the possibility of whether he can win or not – and apparently, it’s the latter, because he passes right back to Kiyoshi, who dunks before Wakamatsu can stop him.

The ball bounces out of bounds – but not really. It seems to disappear for a second, but Izuki knows it’s only Kuroko, who passes Tōō’s defenders with his new move, Vanishing Drive. They all look stunned, and Izuki takes advantage of their shock by running to the unguarded position and shooting once the ball reaches his hands.

9 – 6. They’ve gathered some momentum, good. Now all they need to do is carry that momentum forward—

“Seirin High, time-out!”

Izuki turns to the bench, raising a confused eyebrow at Riko, who nods a few times and purses her lips. Clearly, she’s doing this for a reason, and far be it from him to question the coach.

The teams step off the court, Seirin gathering around Riko and abuzz with queries. She flaps her hands a few times and says, “Calm down. I called a time-out for a reason, and that reason is Aomine-kun.”

“Aomine?” Kiyoshi says, still perplexed. “He hasn’t even done anything yet.”

Riko hums. “Yes, but it’s about Kagami-kun versus him.”

“I can’t beat Aomine at the moment,” Kagami says. “I played it out in my head. I got the ball stolen, too. But I _ can _ hopefully stop him.”

Riko grins. “Perfect. Meanwhile, we’ll use you as a decoy. Koganei-kun, I’m expecting you to sink some threes here, got it?”

Koganei salutes. “Yes, ma’am!”

Riko claps. “All right, then. Get your butts back out there, and let’s win this game!”

“Yeah!”

* * *

Once more, the shooting guards duke it out on the court.

Koga has his new move, Barrier Jumper. But Sakurai proves to have improved, too. (That was good!) His accuracy has increased tenfold, and he’s stopped being as apologetic as he was before, though he still seems like a nervous fawn in a lion’s lair.

It’s 14 – 11 to Seirin, and Izuki doesn’t think he’s touched the ball once other than to make passes - which is fine, really, but Koga’s kind of monopolising it. Judging by the way Aomine and Kagami are vibrating, they feel even more restless than he does.

Still, this is the shooting guards’ battle, and Izuki can respect that, just so long as they don’t finish off the game before anyone else has a chance to play.

“I’m gonna win, ‘cause I’m better! Hmph!” he hears a thin, high voice proclaim, and turns in surprise to see it’s _ Sakurai _ who just said those arrogant words.

_ Well. So the fearful mushroom has another side to him, huh. _

It’s called a clutch personality, Izuki remembers. Hyūga had one too, back when he used to play. Sakurai will only get better from here on out – Koga had better be careful.

True to his word, Sakurai shoots one more, far higher and faster than even his usual, and makes the basket perfectly. 19 – 22, to Tōō.

Imayoshi gets the ball before Izuki can and goes for a behind-the-back pass. But Izuki slips around him and makes the steal, breaking away as fast as he can and running up the court, towards Seirin’s own hoop. Tōō can only stare in shock because _ what is he doing?! _

Izuki’s eyes meet with Koganei’s, and there’s a second of mutual understanding. And then Koganei _ moves_, leaving a stunned Sakurai behind as he runs in the opposite direction from Izuki. Imayoshi snaps out of his daze and follows, but Koga’s got the lead already, nearly three feet ahead.

Izuki pivots gracefully as he runs, turning around and flying back down the court. He passes the ball to the shooting guard, who’s stopped just outside the three-point line and has his hands open for a catch. However, Imayoshi’s already reached the line and has his hands wide open for the pass that’s almost left Izuki’s hands.

Izuki doesn’t miss a second: he applies force on the tips of his fingers and curves his wrists inwards, starting to dribble again. Then he darts forward, zipping past Koganei and Imayoshi too fast for the ball to be taken from him, and passes to Kiyoshi before Tōō’s captain can react. Susa’s got him cornered, however, so Kiyoshi sends the ball back to Koganei, who sinks his Barrier Jumper within seconds.

22-all. The whistle blows for the end of the first quarter.

And though Izuki knows it hasn’t even started, though he knows the aces must battle first before a victory is decided, he can’t help the burst of excitement that tells him they’re going to win.

* * *

“Good job, Koganei-kun!” Riko thumps the cat-mouthed boy’s back, and he smiles, pleased and proud. “Now let everyone else play, too.”

“My battle’s over,” Koga says with a nod. “Now it’s you guys’ turn.”

Kagami flashes him a wide smile and a thumbs-up. Kuroko, too, gives his soft, encouraging grin. Furihata even works up the nerve to give Koganei a playful back-slap and say, “We got this, senpai.”

“What do you got? Warming the bench with your ass?” Koga retorts light-heartedly. Furi takes no offence and grins roguishly.

“Of course, so your butts don’t have to freeze when you sit, senpai,” he replies.

“Ah, Furihata, you’ve really grown!” Izuki interjects, wiping fake tears from the corner of his eye. Furihata rolls his eyes at him and goes to fuss about Kuroko – there are the beginnings of something there for sure, but now isn’t the time to think of it.

Izuki turns his head to Tōō’s bench, spotting Aomine almost instantly. His name, Daiki – ‘big radiance’ – is quite apt, since he is indeed _ radiant _ on the court. (That might need some work.) Still, for all Izuki cares, he will remain Kuroko’s blue balls ex.

It’s a wonderful pun, if he does say so himself.

* * *

The second quarter begins, and the aces keep each other in check. Neither can break free from the other, with the result that it becomes a four-man match. Kiyoshi and Wakamatsu score consecutively, Sakurai adding his own two cents – or should he say _ three _– every now and then. Tōō grasps a slight lead early on and doesn’t seem to be letting go of it anytime soon.

The crowd is still cheering for Aomine to demolish Seirin. It annoys Izuki to no end, almost to the point that he wants to grab the referee’s loudspeaker and yell at them to shut up.

“Come on, now, Shun-chan,” Imayoshi admonishes, smiling darkly. “They’re only shouting for the _ better _ team, after all.”

“Then we’d better start being better than you, _ kitakore_,” Izuki retorts, activating his Eagle Eye and looking around for possible pass courses or plays he can make.

Imayoshi sucks in air, smiling wider. “Well, well! Aren’t we confident?”

“Of course,” Izuki replies, locking his gaze with the other captain and grinning right back. “After all, the winners of the Winter Cup would naturally be confident.”

He doesn’t even need to look back as he makes the pass, so similar to Imayoshi’s own. Kiyoshi catches the ball and makes the layup, drawing Seirin level with Tōō for the first time since the second quarter began.

Imayoshi raises his eyebrows. “A pass like mine?”

“I’ve been doing my studies like a good boy.” Izuki grins, breaking free from him to dart up the court.

Wakamatsu, in possession and about to shoot, doesn’t even realise until the ball is gone. It’s in Izuki’s hands one second and arcing upwards towards the basket the next. Imayoshi watches with resigned amusement as Izuki scores another three points for Seirin (and their first lead in this match!), making the score 39 – 36.

Tōō hits back, of course. With an intelligent captain like Imayoshi, they’ve started to understand Seirin’s tricks. They score two more points off Kiyoshi, who accidentally fouls Susa, resulting in a free throw for Tōō. Aomine doesn’t miss it, levelling the score to 39-all.

Izuki's positioned near Koga when he sees it happen. Koganei is stepping back for the Barrier Jumper, the shot that worked quite successfully on Sakurai the last few times, but Izuki can see in the currently-not-so-diffident brunette’s eyes that he’s figured it out.

Izuki steps up into Koga’s peripheral vision and motions for the pass. The ball lands in his hands, and he sighs a little in relief – they saved Tōō from getting it, and that’s what matters, because every point counts in this match.

He looks at Kiyoshi, playing earnestly and smilingly as always, and feels the strong determination well up in his chest again. They’ll win this year – they _ have _ to.

A small shout pulls Izuki’s gaze to Kagami and Aomine - or should he say, Aomine alone, because Kagami has broken away and streaked up the court. Izuki instantly realises what he’s doing and chases him, drawing level with Kagami. Aomine follows, equally fast, but Izuki has already passed to the redhead, who dunks… from the _ free throw line_.

The score comes up to 41 – 39.

_ Kagami really is a basketball monster, _Izuki can’t help but think with some amusement.

* * *

Kuroko’s Vanishing Drive proves extremely effective against Tōō, who are completely stunned by the nature of the technique. Their shock helps Seirin rack up the points, bringing the score up to 49 – 45.

However, some things are too good to last. And this is one of them.

It's against Aomine (of_ fucking _ course) that the Vanishing Drive fails first. The ace closes his eyes and relies merely on Kuroko's _ breath_, of all things, and then he moves.

Kuroko is halfway past Aomine, his goal in clear sight. That’s when Aomine flicks the ball clean out of his hands and dribbles past him, going for the hoop - left completely unguarded by a stunned Seirin - from the three-point line.

49 - 48.

It’s all right, Izuki reassures himself. They still have the lead, and just because one of Kuroko’s tricks was stopped doesn’t mean the others won’t work. Besides, the rest of the team aren’t just dummy pieces standing on the court; Kagami will keep Aomine in check, and they’ll score as they were doing so far.

Kuroko’s eyes are wild with fear. The ball hurtles towards him, passed by Kiyoshi in the hopes of getting him back into a semi-normal state.

Izuki realises what he’s going to do a second before he does it, and screams, _ “Kuroko, no!” _

But Kuroko, torn up in his anguish, doesn’t listen - he fires his Ignite Pass Kai off across the court, where no one is there to receive it.

Aomine, standing on the centre line, raises a hand. The pass smacks his arm, the ball spins on his palm, and then it stops, dropping to the ground.

“I’m disappointed, Tetsu,” he tells Kuroko, moving into his shooting form.

Aomine’s ball slides into the basket - another one of his insane formless shots. 50 - 49, to Tōō.

“Seirin High, time-out!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments make a blob happy~


	6. ride the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Repost: 14.08.20  
chapter song: [Catch Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpSARXWyCO4) by Jenix! i like how this song goes from 'you're trapped' to 'fucking beat their asses' lmao

Both teams troop off the court to their benches, one filled with assured confidence, the other worn down and shaken up. One of their most efficient moves, their trump card, has effectively been shut down, and it brings down team morale by more than just a few points.

The time-out is a welcome break from the pressure of the match. It allows Seirin to cool down a little and think of their next strategy.

“I think it’s time for Kagami-kun to face Aomine-kun,” Riko says suddenly.

“Why so?” Izuki asks.

“Kagami-kun wasn’t able to face Aomine at the time because he didn’t think he was ready. It’s just like what you said earlier… about us not thinking we were ready to beat Tōō and Aomine the last time. I know that we just lost one of our best moves, but the rest of you aren’t dolls on the court! You can fight, too.”

Izuki nods, feeling his spirits come up a little more.

“Coach is right. We shouldn’t be sitting around depressed; we have _ way _ more stuff in our arsenal. That dunk of yours, Kagami - it showed that you’ve got enough and more potential to beat Aomine one-on-one! So go and face him head-on, just like you would do anyone else.”

Kagami sits up a little straighter, eyes sparkling. “Yes, Captain!”

“I’m thinking we’ll sub Kuroko-kun out for the third quarter, or at least the beginning of it. Mitobe-kun, you’re in,” Riko decides. Izuki agrees; Kuroko’s practically steaming with frustration, and it’s not a good idea to put him in the game right now.

Mitobe nods. _ I’ll do my best. _

Kuroko speaks up, then, desperate and desolate.

“Coach, how am I going to win if I can’t fight?”

Riko cuffs him on the head harshly. “Don’t tell me _ you _ forgot what matters most to you!”

“That’s right,” adds Kagami, thumping him on the back. “Remember, a team is there to fight for you if you can’t! Don’t underestimate us; we’re here for you, stupid.”

Kuroko stares at Kagami for two full seconds, and then he laughs, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Of course. Kagami-kun is right. How could I forget?”

“You’re stressed right now, Kuroko. Take a break, watch us play, have fun like Kiyoshi says. That’s what matters most,” says Izuki, squeezing his shoulder. “We’ll be fine.”

Kuroko nods, his mood improving visibly.

“Yes, senpai. I know you will. I just…” He hesitates for a second, and then it comes pouring out. “Aomine-kun was my best friend in Teikō. He was such a kind person who loved basketball… I want that person back, and I will do _ anything _ for him. I want to see him smile while playing basketball again.”

Izuki hums. “I can understand that. Don’t worry, Kuroko. Until you’re ready, we’ve got your back.”

Kuroko smiles. “I know. Thank you, and do well out there for my sake. For all our sakes.” His glance lingers on Kiyoshi for a second.

Kiyoshi grins. “Right. Come on, let’s go have some fun!” he cheers, and Seirin once more follows him and Izuki out the door, refreshed from the break and ready to fight back.

* * *

The second quarter resumes, and tensions are high on the court - especially between the two boys facing off on the centre line. Despite not even participating in their battle, Izuki feels like a tightly strung guitar, ready to snap under the right amount of pressure. He can hear his heart thudding against his ribcage; he’s hyper-aware of everyone and everything around him.

_ Is this what it’s like to be in the presence of two prodigies battling it out? It’s crazy. _

Aomine moves, and Kagami moves with him. The slightest shift of Kagami’s weight is mirrored by Aomine, both of them so in sync with each other they’re barely focusing on anything else.

_ We need to give Kagami the space he needs for this fight, _ Izuki thinks.

He motions for his team to step back, and all of them draw back slightly - just enough to give Kagami the maximum court area he requires, yet to be able to dart in and grab the ball in case things go amiss. The rest of Tōō mirrors their movements, seemingly having understood what Seirin is doing.

This match isn’t just the battle of two powerful teams against each other. It is an all-out war between Aomine Daiki and Kagami Taiga, and the kind that can only be watched with awe. There’s no stopping or intervening in this fight from either side.

All that the rest of them can do is pray that their ace wins.

With bated breath, Izuki watches. Aomine’s got the ball and is up against Kagami. He prepares his infamous change of pace, but Kagami stays on him, diving in suddenly for the steal. Aomine, however, isn’t about to be beaten so easily; he takes the ball out of Kagami’s reach and passes him, going for a regular but high shot. Kagami blocks it easily.

“You wanted a good game?” he asks tauntingly. “I’ll give you one.”

Aomine smiles widely. “Then, I’m going to get serious, too.”

And he grabs the ball once more, zipping down the court. Izuki tries to follow, but Aomine is too fast for even him.

_ So this is the true power of the ace of the Generation of Miracles… insane. _

Kagami, however, matches Aomine step for step and corners him again. Aomine dribbles carefully, taking his time to decide on a move.

Then he speeds up all of a sudden, dancing circles around Kagami, and bounces the ball high up in the air between Kagami's legs, sending it flying towards the basket.

_ Does he seriously think that’ll make it in?! _Izuki wonders incredulously.

Wakamatsu seems to think it's an alley-oop for him and grabs the ball mid-air, but Aomine simply darts past Kagami, snatches the ball from his hand, and lays it in with his back to the ring. 52 - 49, to Tōō.

_ How selfish… I understand now, Kuroko. It must hurt you so much to see them like this. _

The ball is back to Seirin now, Kiyoshi having grabbed it from under the hoop. He sends it hurtling across the court, Koganei catching it and firing off the pass to Kagami. Except, well, it doesn’t exactly make it there, because Imayoshi makes another of his steals.

Luckily, Izuki stands near Tōō's captain and manages to steal the pass that’s rushing towards Aomine, redirecting it towards Kagami instead. Their ace catches the ball and starts to dribble, moving forward inch by inch. Mitobe, who’s thankfully close by, puts up a screen, and Kagami dribbles Aomine into the screen cleanly. Aomine tries to spin around him, but Mitobe isn’t a master of defence for nothing - he’s able to keep Aomine locked for two full seconds longer than anyone else on the team probably could.

By the time Aomine breaks free from Mitobe’s defence without fouling him, Kagami’s already made his shot. The net swishes gently as the ball lands in it, bringing the score to 52 - 51, Tōō leading by a mere point.

Mitobe is caught between Aomine and Kagami when Aomine gets the ball once more. He jumps and shifts into a random position for one of his crazy formless shots, which are near impossible to block.

Near impossible, because somehow, miraculously, Kagami _ does _block it.

He leaps with both legs, eyes intent on Aomine, who is too slow to react; the ball has already left his hands and is arching upwards toward Kagami’s outstretched hand.

Kagami flicks his wrist powerfully, meeting the ball mid-flight, and smacks it down to the hardwood floor. His eyes glow with _ something _ as he hits the ground, and it leaves everyone dumbstruck.

Izuki can’t help but wonder just what can be made of him, if he’s this good already. Given the right support, Kagami Taiga could very well become the greatest basketball player of all time.

* * *

The next attack is Aomine’s. He’s stalled constantly by an aggressive defence from Kagami and struggles to get past him. Aomine’s twenty-four seconds are drawing to a close, and Izuki holds his breath as he counts down the last few seconds.

_ 4… 3… 2… _

Then Aomine moves like lightning, slipping into position for a shot. Kagami follows—

And it’s a fake.

Aomine passes Kagami, heading straight for the basket. But Kagami’s moving _ with _ him, and he emerges from Aomine’s blind spot like a hungry tiger ready to pounce.

Aomine’s ball bounces off the rim of the basket in his shock. Wakamatsu goes for the rebound - but Kagami’s way ahead of him. He jumps with his right leg, sending him high up into the air, far higher than any normal human should be able to jump.

Kagami snatches the rebound out of the air and flings it powerfully across the court. Izuki is galvanised into action, running for the fast break and catching the ball. He speeds down the court, even Aomine too late to catch up.

Then he turns and passes back to Kagami, who leaps once more, his wrist cocked in a form that isn’t a form. Izuki’s eyes widen with realisation.

_ Holy shit._

Aomine jumps for the block, roaring, “You’re not ready for that yet!”

Kagami shoots anyway.

The ball whizzes around the rim of the basket before bouncing off. The whistle blows for the end of the second quarter.

The score is 52 - 51 in Tōō’s favour, but somehow it feels like Seirin is starting to win.

* * *

Halftime is a welcome break from the high-paced game. Izuki’s legs tremble a little as he sits down, the tension from on-court only just disappearing now. Mitobe’s honey-soaked lemon slices are the perfect refreshment, and Izuki can almost _ feel _ his stamina being built back up as he sucks on his piece.

Kagami’s eyes are that of a wild beast - concentrated, focused, bloodthirsty. Izuki notices Riko’s gaze intent on him and asks her quietly, “So what’s the deal with him?”

“It’s animal instinct,” whispers Riko back equally softly. “It gives you the intuition of an animal - in Kagami-kun’s case, I’d say it’s a tiger with the fierce and predatory but still elegant moves he’s making.”

Izuki nods. “I’ve heard of that. But for our Kagami to have it…” He looks at Kagami and is once more floored by the sheer talent that he possesses.

Riko nods. “It’s insane. But then,”—and here she smiles a wry smile—“isn’t everything related to Kagami that way?”

Izuki laughs. “You’re right as always, Coach.”

Soon enough, the break is over, and Seirin heads back out to the court. The smell of cleaning product in the air hits Izuki’s nostrils, and he smiles.

“Why are you smiling?” asks Furihata suspiciously.

“Do you smell the cleaning product?” Izuki asks.

“Yeah,” Fukuda says, holding his nose. “It stinks.”

Izuki grins. “That’s why I’m smiling.”

“Because it stinks?” asks Kawahara with his eyebrows raised.

Izuki shakes his head no.

“Because it means we’ve played a hard enough game that they needed to clean the court with product during the break. They’ll usually just wipe it down, have you seen? But we’ve gotten so much sweat and dirt everywhere that they’ve got to use a cleaner,” Izuki explains with a grin. “I’m looking forward to keeping that momentum up.”

“...You’re weird,” declares Furihata, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Izuki laughs. “Tell me something I _ don’t _know.”

* * *

The third quarter starts relatively normally. The crowd is still cheering for Aomine, but they’ve become a lot quieter now.

Kuroko is back in for Seirin, and he looks far more energized. The break has done him good, and hopefully, he will be able to play the rest of the game. Izuki knows that Seirin can handle it even without Kuroko, but there’s something about him that seems simply to _ better _everyone else on the team - particularly Kagami.

Tōō gets the ball first, Imayoshi dribbling up court. He ends up facing Izuki, whose Eagle Eye is activated and busy picking apart Imayoshi’s body, his stance, his form.

Imayoshi’s body weight shifts towards the right. Izuki catches a flash of dark blue in the right corner of his vision and holds his breath, waiting for it.

The other’s muscles contract, and he lifts and passes. That’s when Izuki makes the steal.

He passes fast and high, almost like a three, to Kiyoshi, who zips up court and attempts to dunk. His dunk, however, is blocked by Aomine, who takes the ball greedily and flits back down the court towards Seirin’s basket. Kagami follows hot on his heels and stops in front of him, clearly attempting to stall him. But Aomine suddenly drives past Kagami with enormous speed, leaving Kagami reeling as he goes in for the kill. Kiyoshi attempts to help with the defence, but Aomine is too powerful for him.

And then Kuroko pops up from bleeding _ nowhere_, and Aomine’s momentum is too great for him to stop. All eighty-seven kilograms of Aomine Daiki crash powerfully into Kuroko, sending them both to the ground.

The referee blows her whistle.

“Charging! Black #5!” she shouts, pointing at Aomine, who looks stricken. Kuroko smiles up at him from the ground.

“If you can read me, Aomine-kun…” he starts, taking Kagami’s outstretched hand and getting up. “Then isn’t the converse true, too? We both spent that time together in Teikō. I know you as well as you do me.”

Regret flashes briefly across Aomine’s face before he snarls at Kuroko, lips drawn back to show all his teeth in an almost animalistic way.

“You’ve really done it now, Tetsu,” he hisses.

Kuroko does nothing but smile and tilt his head innocently, jogging back up the court with Kagami by his side.

And if Aomine steams a little more with jealousy as he watches Kagami and Kuroko fist-bump, Izuki’s quite certain that Kuroko didn’t _ mean _it. Absolutely not.

The ball is then with Kuroko, and he passes it quickly to Kagami, who makes his move - or pretends to. He changes his stance mid-air, sending the basketball to Kiyoshi, who dribbles for a while before giving it back to Kuroko. Kuroko fires off one of his Ignite Passes towards Koganei - the shooting guard immediately goes for a three, the only person in his immediate vicinity Sakurai, who is unable to react in time. The beautiful three-pointer ups the score to 54 - 52, in favour of Seirin.

“Ow,” howls Koganei, holding up his reddened hand. “Kuroko, that pass _ hurts_!”

Kuroko bows shortly. “I’m sorry, senpai.”

Izuki smiles. Where before only Kagami could catch those Ignite Passes with their sheer strength, now any member of Seirin can catch an ordinary one of them.

The eagle is finally ready to fly once more.

* * *

It’s Tōō’s offence, and Imayoshi’s got the ball. He moves in for a fake, which Izuki clearly recognises but isn’t able to act on due to the sheer distance between them. He bridges half of it but isn’t fast enough to prevent Wakamatsu from getting the ball. Wakamatsu scores, drawing Tōō level with Seirin once more at 54-all.

Kiyoshi snatches the ball and heads to Tōō’s basket, passing to Izuki who’s ready to send it off to Kuroko when he notices something.

Imayoshi is defending Kuroko. The blue-haired boy attempts to shake him off, but it isn’t working.

_ His misdirection should easily have gotten Imayoshi sidetracked by now! _

Izuki glances up at Tōō’s bench. His gaze catches pink, and Momoi Satsuki smiles oh-so-sweetly at him, the picture of innocence.

_ You, _ he thinks with sudden fury. _ This is your doing! _

But he can’t focus on that right now. Kuroko’s almost there - he’s nearly gotten Imayoshi off of him—

Izuki passes. Kuroko reaches for the ball.

Imayoshi steals and shoots a three-pointer, bringing the score up to 57 - 54: wait, what?!

Izuki wants to be shocked, but he can't waste any time dwelling on the issue. He instead swoops in to scoop up the ball once more and runs for a fast break. He’s flying faster than he ever has, his limbs fuelled by desperation rather than strength, and goes in for the shot.

Wakamatsu towers over him, pushing Izuki to come to a jarring halt. The force from his sudden stop rockets all the way up to his spine, and he loses control of the ball. It goes flying in Koganei’s direction - he catches it and takes his quick step backwards for the Barrier Jumper.

And Sakurai moves along with him, hands outstretched to block the shot.

With no choice, Koganei shoots. Sakurai blocks and takes the ball for his own, darting up court and taking his own shot. No one is there to stop him, and the three-pointer lands beautifully.

60 - 54, in favour of Tōō.

Kagami attempts to shake his opponent, but Aomine sticks to him like glue. Kuroko’s unable to get free from Imayoshi, Wakamatsu has Kiyoshi cornered, and Susa, the worst match for a brains-not-brawn player like Izuki, does not allow him to move an inch. With the rest of Seirin trapped, Koganei is the only man on defence. Unfortunately, unlike his best friend Mitobe, defence is Koga’s weakest point.

Sakurai’s already grabbed the ball back in the time Koganei took to reach him. He sets up for his shot - Koga moves to block, but he’s too slow.

Another three ups Tōō’s score to 63 - 54.

But this time, Koganei is faster. He grabs the ball and passes instinctively to Kagami, whose eyes are resolute.

“For my team,” Kagami declares to Aomine, “I’ll face you!”

Aomine’s gaze bores into Kagami’s, and there’s _ something _ in there that Izuki can’t pinpoint, but at the same time, he knows exactly what it is.

A small, nearly imperceptible shiver runs down Kagami’s body. He seems… _ afraid _ of Aomine for a second. Aomine doesn’t miss his chance and steals the ball like lightning.

In that moment, Izuki realises what it is that’s so familiar.

_ Aomine… he has the animal instinct, too! _

Aomine drives powerfully towards the basket, where Koga hurries in a last-ditch attempt to stop him. Aomine uses a quick change of pace, however, and easily circumvents him - but Kagami has caught up once more.

Aomine jumps; Kagami does too. Then Aomine twirls one hundred eighty degrees in the air like a _ ballerina _and dunks.

65 - 54, in favour of Tōō.

The black and red colours of the opposing team seem like the harbinger for evil, a dark star shining upon Seirin’s moonless night. Tōō scores point after point after point, bringing the score to 73 - 54; Aomine takes shots almost greedily, like he owns the court.

And Kuroko’s misdirection has effectively stopped working.

Izuki glances at Imayoshi and Kuroko, the latter still caged in. Kuroko’s eyes are bleak and despondent once more, and Izuki feels his own confidence take a bit of a beating.

_ No! _ he commands himself. _ Stay strong. I have to do what I do best - I have to keep calm, even if the world is crashing down around me. I need to think of something… I have to do something… _

He stares as Imayoshi keeps Kuroko in check without even looking at him.

_ How is he _ doing _ that? Could it be… he’s figured Kuroko out?! _

The world slows around Izuki, time seeming to stop as his Eye focuses the way he has taught himself to do over the past few months. He watches Imayoshi’s face carefully, noting the slow and steady pulse, the way his body weight shifts, the way he watches the rest of Seirin and barely looks at Kuroko.

The _ rest _of Seirin… not Kuroko.

_ That’s it, _ Izuki realises with a jolt.

_ Kuroko’s misdirection relies on the player he coordinates with to make eye contact with him. The harder you try to look at him, the harder he is to see, because he directs your attention towards the ball! Imayoshi is purposely relying on the other player who mirrors Kuroko rather than Kuroko himself… Momoi really is sharp, huh? _

_ I think I know what to do… but we’re going to need to call a time-out. _

Izuki turns and catches Riko’s eye, gesturing for a time-out. She nods, standing up and making the symbol with her hands.

“Seirin High, time-out!”

His teammates look at him and Riko in confusion, but he just shakes his head and makes his way to the bench.

“What is it?” Riko says shortly.

Izuki exhales. “Kuroko’s effectively been stalled,” he says. “Imayoshi’s got him figured out.”

Kuroko looks dejected. “I’m sorry—”

Izuki clicks his tongue. “It’s fine; now isn’t the time to dwell on it. I have an idea, though I’m not sure if it’ll work…”

“What?” asks Kiyoshi.

“I’d say not to let Imayoshi on Kuroko, but I’m pretty sure that Momoi has told all of Tōō the secret to his misdirection. So, I thought of this - Kuroko as well as his mirror will have to become a decoy.”

“Eh?” says Kagami in confusion.

Izuki continues, “When you sync up with Kuroko to receive the pass or make sure he redirects your pass, you make eye contact with him. You are essentially the mirror of his play, the answer to all of Tōō’s questions. But this time, when you sync with him, don’t pass to him or receive the ball from him. Do what you would absolutely not do in that given situation; go against every part of your gut instinct.”

“What does that even mean?” asks Koganei, frowning. But Riko’s eyes sparkle with understanding.

“When you look at Kuroko-kun,” she says, “you naturally go for a pass towards him. But Izuki-kun says that you should do the opposite - pass to someone else, shoot - something that Tōō will not be expecting, because their players will all be geared towards stopping _ Kuroko_. So if we stop Kuroko first… Tōō will be fooled for the time being!”

“It’s a short-term solution,” adds Izuki. “And I don’t want to have to use the other technique; it’s a last-ditch attempt, and we’ll be done for if we use it in a situation where we have other options.” No one questions what he means by ‘other technique’ - they are all too busy contemplating the new strategy.

“It’s going to require a lot from all of you, but give your best,” says Riko. “I know it’s hard to go against your own body, but you can do this!”

“Trust me,” Izuki says, smiling at his team. “If you’re not sure what to do, pass to me. I’ll worry about it.”

“And Aomine?” asks Kagami.

“We have you, don’t we, _ ace_?” Kiyoshi says cheerfully.

“But Aomine’s just too good!” Kagami bursts out, and he doesn’t sound furious so much as desperate. “Right now, I’m not even sure if I can come close to him, let alone defeat him - I can’t even be jealous or angry because _ bloody hell_, he’s amazing! That guy has reached the absolute peak as a basketball player, and _ damn it_, I want to be pissed off, but all I can feel is an enormous amount of respect for him,” he finishes.

“Defeating the person you respect,” Fukuda says softly, stepping up to touch Kagami’s shoulder gently, “is often one of the greatest things you can do for yourself.”

His eyes are wistful, and it makes Izuki wonder what Fukuda’s gone through to say that - clearly, it comes from a place of understanding.

“I’ve often found that one usually tends to respect a person not because they are your better, but because they are your equal,” Fukuda continues. “We got this far because you were _ just as good as Aomine_! So don’t go thinking you can’t defeat him!”

Kagami looks a little more comforted. “Thanks, Fukuda,” he says, clasping the shorter boy’s hand and shaking it in thanks. Fukuda looks slightly pained by the force Kagami puts into the handshake, but he smiles nevertheless.

“Of course.”

The break is almost over, and Seirin’s players gulp some water quickly before lacing up their shoes again.

Riko looks at Izuki, a question in her eyes. _ And the other plan? _

He answers with a nod of his head, _ Time to put it into motion. _

He has Kirisaki Daīchi to thank for this idea, and he hates to use it, but unfortunately, it’s one of the things that caters most to his strengths.

* * *

They’re back on the court, and Imayoshi is on Kuroko once more. However, Seirin isn’t worried about that now - they’ve got a makeshift strategy, which will have to do until Kagami makes a breakthrough.

Here and now, fighting Aomine, they _ must _ rely on their ace. But to do so, they must also step up and clear the way for him to win. The ace may be the wings of the eagle, but the body of the bird is just as important. Wings cannot be spread without a body to be attached to.

_ All right… First, we see if our temporary idea works. But for that, Koga, I’m going to need the damn ball! _

Izuki frantically gestures in Koga’s direction, calling for the pass. Finally, the boy tears his eyes away from Sakurai’s intent gaze and, with a sheepish smile, sends Izuki the ball. The others hold down their marks tightly so as to clear a path, and Izuki breaks away from Susa for a split second, enough to be able to catch the pass. But the taller male follows hot on his heels, locking Izuki in once more.

Izuki strains against Susa’s tight defence, but the small forward - really, he’s six foot three, that is in no way small! - gives him no ground. He catches Kuroko’s eye and isn’t surprised to find Imayoshi’s gaze following his own. He frowns in Kuroko’s direction and is met with a smile. Kuroko’s hands reach out for the pass; Izuki’s own fingers prepare to release the ball.

He places all his weight on his big toe, then, and makes a full one-eighty, passing it to Kiyoshi, marking Wakamatsu just outside the three-point line. Aomine, on the other side of the court, pushes against Kagami’s tight defence but can’t get free before Kiyoshi gets the ball.

The center lifts the ball and shoots a three, which drops neatly into the basket. The score is now 75 - 57.

Imayoshi stands stunned, and his eyes flicker in shock - first to Kiyoshi, then to Izuki, then to Kuroko.

_ This can only mean one thing. _

Hoping that that split second is enough, Izuki takes his chance and passes the ball. It turns seemingly on its own, and Imayoshi flails about for his now missing opponent, his dead-fish eyes wide open and frantic.

Kuroko is invisible once more. And this time, the mirrors know exactly what to do to make him_ stay _ that way. Their strategy has worked - and with far better results than Izuki or any of Seirin could’ve imagined.

Now all he has to do is make sure that neither Imayoshi nor Aomine is on Kuroko.

Izuki himself can face off against Imayoshi, and Aomine is easily taken care of, for Kagami’s stance has dropped, and he’s even more fluid than before. It’s almost like a true tiger has awakened within him.

_ Time to trust our ace, _Izuki decides and signals for Kagami to get the pass. Koganei nods and lobs the basketball towards the redhead.

Kagami blitzes past Aomine with overwhelming power, jumping off his right leg and soaring towards the basket. Aomine has already caught up and jumps for the block, but Kagami’s practically flying. The ace of the Generation of Miracles is already falling towards the ground when Kagami finally reaches the pinnacle of his jump.

Aomine leaps again, gritting his teeth, but only half-reaches the hoop when Kagami dunks. One hand cannot stop the strength and momentum behind that shot, not even if it’s a hand belonging to Aomine Daiki.

But surprisingly, as both aces hit the ground once more, Aomine _ smiles_.

“I take it all back, Kagami,” he declares. “You’re the best!”

That’s when Izuki understands the true nature of this situation.

Kagami and Aomine were made for each other. Made for this rivalry, this intense competition that will push them to their very limits and carry them onto a plane that no ordinary human can reach. Neither can defeat the other per se - they’re destined to stand neck and neck forever. However, one has a trump card on his side; and that trump card can make all the difference in the world.

Aomine Daiki may be strong, but Kagami Taiga is just as good. And damn him if the power of Kagami’s determination coupled with Kuroko’s unshakeable support won’t overwhelm the undisputed king of basketball.

_ Move aside, light bulb, _ Izuki thinks vindictively. _ The tube light is here to replace you. _

* * *

With the help of Kuroko’s newly regained misdirection and Kagami’s unleashed beast, Izuki takes control of the court quickly. He directs plays and makes a few unexpected shots of his own, and Seirin manages to level the gap to an eleven-point margin. Things are starting to look up again - they _ can _ win this. The Seirin team focuses harder, the goal now in sight.

_ We’ve got a fighting chance. _

It’s the last few seconds of the third quarter, and Izuki’s hoping to get another couple of points, or possibly a three. He passes to Koganei, who shifts into shooting form and scores.

75 - 67.

Then Sakurai, impossibly quick, sends the ball towards Imayoshi, who flings it towards the basket at random.

The whistle blows for the third quarter, and Imayoshi’s ball falls neatly in the basket.

77 - 67. Tōō’s ten-point lead is back.

* * *

“I know how frustrated you guys must feel, but right now, we need to _ stay calm_,” Izuki says firmly to his team.

They don’t respond. Kiyoshi looks out onto the court, pulse beating abnormally fast. Kagami’s cheeks are flushed, Kuroko’s chest is heaving, and Koganei is sweating buckets.

_ They’re overheated, _ Izuki realises. _ Not just mentally, but physically, too. _

“I need wet towels,” he says to Riko and the benchwarmers, who nod and bring over the pile of towels. Izuki dips one in cold water and presses the wet area to Kagami’s nose and mouth, eliciting a startled, “Hey!”

Fukuda, Furihata, and Kawahara follow Izuki’s lead, pressing cold and wet cloths to the faces and arms of the other Seirin starters, who respond similarly. Izuki scrubs Kagami’s face until he’s satisfied - cooling yourself down physically can help with your state of mind too.

He grabs a wet towel himself, dabbing it on his forehead and relishing the cool feeling. His sweat magically evaporates, and his thinking clears a little more.

He stands in front of his team and starts to speak.

“You guys are taking this _ too _ seriously!” he accuses.

“What?” Koga asks, frowning. “We _ have _ to take this seriously! Itzuki, what do you even mean?”

“You’re trying too hard to win,” Riko intercedes coolly. “What matters is your gameplay, not your victory. Stop focusing on the win, and start focusing on how you play! We came here intending to be better than Tōō, and that’s what we have to do before we can dream of winning. So let’s _ go _ at this with everything we have!”

“They’re ten points ahead,” says Kagami. “But I think… I think I can help cover it up.”

Izuki grins. “Excellent. Now let’s get back out there! Seirin, _ fight_!”

* * *

The fourth quarter begins with a lot of fuss. The crowds roar for the fast and furious Aomine to thrash Seirin once more, and Izuki… well, he’s not exactly the biggest fan of that.

“You want something to roar about?” he mutters to himself and darts forwards, stealing Imayoshi’s pass to Aomine. That in itself elicits a few gasps from the crowd, but Izuki isn’t satisfied with it. He’s going to score, and score spectacularly. Let them all eat their words - Izuki Shun is just as good as any other player out there, and he is _ done _being underestimated.

The confidence that last thought brings him startles Izuki, too. He’s never had a very great sense of self-esteem, so the sudden realisation that he now apparently has an _ ego _ is a bit unsettling.

Nevertheless, that ego screams to be satiated. So Izuki decides to be a little flashy for the first time in his life. He circumvents three defenders with sheer speed, zipping around them like lightning, and performs a layup. The ball bounces gently against the backboard and topples into the basket, and the defenders - Wakamatsu, Susa, and Sakurai - stand still with shock. That shock on their faces brings a flash of childish pleasure, and Izuki’s mouth twitches up into a smirk.

77 - 69.

“Grown a bit of an ego, have we?” Kiyoshi asks playfully, high-fiving him. “The Izuki I knew last year wouldn’t have thought of doing that.”

Izuki shrugs and smiles. “I just didn’t like what the crowds were saying.”

Kiyoshi shakes his head. “You are one hell of a monster when something ticks you off, you know that?”

Izuki widens his eyes innocently. “Well, I should certainly hope so. When you’re angry, you should be able to make the person who pissed you off piss his pants, _ kitakore_.”

“That, you’re a little _ too _ capable of,” Kiyoshi says with a shudder.

Izuki smiles, razor-sharp. “Good to know.”

Kiyoshi sweat-drops. Izuki just laughs and jogs off up the court to go on defence.

* * *

Two minutes into the fourth quarter, a few more carefully placed shots from Seirin bring the score up to 77 - 73, leaving Tōō with a four-point lead. It’s a gap they can easily bridge, and Izuki is determined to do so within the next three minutes. They cannot afford to waste time here.

Kiyoshi scores off a dunk that Izuki sets up perfectly, narrowing the gap between their scores to two points.

_ Yes. Good. Now for the _ other _ plan, _he thinks vindictively to himself, moving near the desperate Sakurai, who stands outside the three-point line, and positioning his body so that Sakurai faces him, both at a right angle to the hoop.

The ball hurtles towards Izuki, who turns ninety degrees and shoots. Sakurai claws forward, trying to make a last-ditch block.

He’s too late. Izuki releases the ball just as Sakurai crashes fully into him, arms out in a failed attempt to stop the shot.

The ref blows his whistle.

“Pushing, black #9!” he yells. “Basket counts, three!”

Just as he does, the shot that had gone high and wide after Sakurai hit him slams into the rim of the basket. It spins around the rim at high speeds, almost as if it’s trying to sprint.

And then against all the laws of gravity and velocity and physics, it tilts inwards and topples inside.

The referee looks at the ball in utter bamboozlement, then whistles once more, pointing at Izuki, who’s still sitting on the floor, a little shocked himself.

78 - 77, in favour of Seirin - and three free throws to go.

A _six-point play_. Holy _shit_.

He better not miss any of those free throws.

* * *

(He doesn’t.)

* * *

The score ends up 81 - 77, with six minutes left in the fourth quarter. Seirin is now three points ahead of Tōō, who stands transfixed as if struck by thunderbolts - even Aomine himself.

“Is that guy insane?” Wakamatsu whispers, but it’s loud enough for Izuki to hear. He turns and smiles. 

“Only a little bit, Wakamatsu-kun.”

Kiyoshi, however, nods. “Yes, Izuki’s completely off his rocker. Unfortunately for us - well, more often than not, _ fortunately _ \- he’s got more than a few screws loose,” he says slyly.

Izuki smacks him in the back of the head and says, “Looks like _ someone’s _asking for extra drills after the game unless he wants to go get in position right now.”

“Right,” Kiyoshi says with a little gulp and continues on forwards, taking his mark against Wakamatsu.

“You aren’t half bad,” Aomine says as he walks past Izuki and his team, grinning. “I’m actually _ enjoying _this game.”

Izuki doesn’t deign to respond, instead going to pick up the ball. As he dribbles carefully, he turns his Eye on. The new perspective gives him a clear vision of the court, how to pass, and where.

_ Kiyoshi, to my right. _

He makes the pass without looking, and Kiyoshi receives it perfectly. He dribbles facing Wakamatsu, and decides on a pass to Kagami - but it doesn’t land, for Aomine breaks free of Kagami and takes the ball for himself.

Kagami doesn’t miss a beat, springing forwards to guard Aomine once more. The two face off, neither yielding an inch. The tension in the air is palpable, so much so that it sends chills down Izuki’s back.

“All I wanted,” says Aomine, bouncing the ball, “was someone I could give my one hundred percent against.” His eyes are bright and intense. “Someone I didn’t know whether I would win or lose against.”

Kagami smiles. “Here I am,” he says, just as soft as Aomine.

Aomine grins. “Yes, here you are,” he says almost fondly. “You’re amazing, you know that? Because of you, I’ve played to my heart’s content. But there’s one thing left.”

“What?” asks Kagami.

“My maximum potential doesn’t stop at one hundred percent,” Aomine reveals, a manic grin on his face. “I still have another hundred left in me - can you keep up?”

Dark blue lightning springs from his eyes, and he slams past Kagami with raw strength, leaving Seirin’s ace wide-eyed and standing still as he scores.

Numbness creeps up Izuki’s spine, and he can’t do anything but stare in shock at Aomine, whose eyes trail blue sparks. He’s heard of this - the state of unshakable focus, the nearly mythical phenomenon that only comes to the best of athletes, the most talented, the most hard-working.

Aomine Daiki is currently in the Zone.

“So you can’t,” Aomine says, smiling slightly. “I shouldn’t have expected it, though. Even if you could stand up to me here, you can’t do it when I’m in the Zone.”

Kagami chokes on fear and attempts to steal. It’s a sloppy and wide try, and Aomine easily holds the ball high and out of his reach.

Kuroko’s eyes are wide with anger and fear, too, but he stays mute.

“Thanks for keeping up this much - no, even _ surpassing _me at our shared level. But, when I’m at my full two hundred percent… the only one who can beat me is me.”

Then it’s not just Kagami who’s left standing still in shock. Even Izuki, with his speed that can nearly match Aomine’s, can barely dream of keeping up as Tōō’s ace flies across the court like he’s got wings. Scoring and scoring, barely letting anyone else touch the ball. He’s dunking on one side of the court and then he’s feinting on the other, faking past three, four, _ five _ opponents. Their defence withers before him; he’s like a child, gleefully knocking over stacks of blocks at his whim and fancy. The court itself bends in favour of Aomine’s stunning brilliance - the Zone is his sandbox, where he does as he wishes.

90 - 81. A nine-point lead, to Tōō once more, and the clock keeps ticking. Seirin can almost _feel _time slipping out of their fingers like sand. The lead is only single-digit, but it’s still nine points too many; they have to push now, because they have no chance of victory if they take this to overtime. 

There are four minutes left in the last quarter, and the light at the end of the tunnel is starting to dim.

_ Can we win this? _Izuki asks all the gods he knows, and prays for a positive answer, though he knows he will receive no reply.

Aomine finally faces Kagami once more, grinning widely.

“Thanks for the game, Kagami,” he says. “But this is where it ends for you.”

He moves to pass Seirin’s ace, setting up a perfect double crossover that would no doubt leave any other opponent stunned: but Kagami Taiga is not any other opponent.

“I’m sick of this,” he whispers as Aomine moves past him effortlessly, voice vibrating with fury. “Sick of it…”

He looks down, powerful jaw clenching as he holds back tears.

“I’m sick of seeing my friends cry… I won’t be so weak as to lose to you anymore, Aomine!”

Even Izuki’s sharp vision can’t tell exactly what happens next, but suddenly Kagami’s _ behind _Aomine, and then he has the ball. Red lightning, the perfect contrast to Aomine’s blue, trails from his focused gaze. None of the players on the court can help the shocked gasps that escape their mouths, because it isn't just Aomine anymore.

_ Kagami Taiga is in the Zone, too. _

* * *

The basketball court, in all its wooden-panelled glory, shines like a newly polished dance floor: and upon it commences the deadly freestyle between the tiger and the panther. Kagami blocks, Aomine blocks. Kagami feints, Aomine feints. Neither can seem to get past the other – they're locked in a lethal impasse.

The clock continues to wind down. _ 3.07, 3.06, 3.05… _

The tension builds, beating its way up to a crescendo. Izuki holds his breath, waiting for the on-fire Aomine to break free of the chokehold Kagami’s got him in. Waiting for the second that the delicate balance will topple.

And it does… just not the way any of them think, because it isn’t Aomine but_ Kagami _ who pushes past his opponent and nets a glorious two points with sublime ease. 

Izuki can barely believe his eyes, but it’s true; Kagami’s got the upper hand. Two minutes and thirty-four seconds to go, and Tōō’s got a seven-point lead - but now, with Kagami playing like he is, that lead may just be within reach.

It’s time to leave it to their ace.

Kagami covers the gap with another two dunks, bringing Tōō’s lead down to a narrow one point before Aomine starts to react. When he does, though, it’s more than fantastic.

He completely obliterates the defence once more, scoring like he owns the court. It’s both fascinating and terrifying to watch, seeing as Aomine _ is _ part of the opposing team, but Kagami quells those fears by matching him point for point. They climb into the high nineties in just sixty seconds, and Izuki looks at the clock to realise with alarm that there’s only one minute of game time left.

The score is 100 - 97, to Tōō. That’s when both aces start to falter.

Kagami drives past Aomine with more than a little difficulty, but Aomine seems to be facing the same problem. The lightning trailing from their gazes has dimmed, and their movements are beginning to slow.

_ Could it be… the Zone has a time cap? _

Kagami pulls himself together and scores; Aomine jumps for the block a millisecond too late, and the points are now 100 - 99 with 37.3 seconds to go.

_ Not good. We don’t have the strength to take this to overtime. _

It’s Tōō’s possession next, and Aomine attempts more than once to drive past Kagami. Both are panting, leaning inwards and running on fumes, but Izuki feels like Kagami has just a bit of an edge. He _ did _ enter the Zone a solid five seconds after Aomine.

And then Aomine jumps back, going for his infamous Formless Shot. Sure enough, Kagami moves for the block; Aomine smirks, confident in his victory, and shoots.

Yet miraculously, Kagami is there to swipe the ball out of the air, his jump powerful enough to carry him well above his opponent. It bounces away, and Aomine lands hard on his ass. Izuki doesn’t waste time; he grabs the ball and goes for the fast break with 17.7 seconds to go. He passes to Kiyoshi, high over the defender Sakurai’s head, and Kiyoshi scores an easy layup.

101 - 100, in favour of Seirin. But they haven’t won yet; there’s still 15 seconds to go, and Aomine proves exactly how much can be accomplished in 15 seconds by pulling off another one of his insane shots from _ behind the fucking backboard._

102 - 101.

_ No! We can’t lose like this - please! _

“Kagami!” Izuki shouts and passes to him, placing all his prayers upon their ace, their wings, their saviour.

_ If there is anyone who can seal the deal, Kagami, it has to be you. Come on! _

3.19 seconds to go. Kagami roars and pounces for the dunk, Aomine following his jump. His left wrist twitches forwards, ball in hand, and Izuki’s heart goes wild in fright. He’ll almost certainly be blocked—

Then the ball is flicked sideways, and it’s in Kiyoshi’s hands. The center looks bemused for a split second before jumping. The realisation sends chills down Izuki’s spine.

_ At the eleventh hour, Kagami perfected his left-handed dexterity. What a beast... _

Wakamatsu jumps as well, and his block is perfect, but what he doesn’t account for is his momentum. He crashes into Kiyoshi just as Aomine and Kagami hit the ground, and the ref blows his whistle loudly.

“Defensive foul, black #6!” he calls angrily. “Basket counts, one!”

Izuki’s eyes meet Kiyoshi’s; they don’t need to verbalise their thoughts.

_ We can’t take this game to overtime. You need to miss the throw and make sure one of us gets the rebound. _

Kiyoshi nods shortly and jogs off to the free throw line. He readies himself and shoots: the ball bounces off the rim of the basket and flies upwards. Kagami and Aomine both let out powerful shouts as they jump for the rebound.

Kagami gets to the ball first, but Aomine is right there with him. They strain against each other, neither a clear winner.

0.05 seconds to go.

Izuki bites his lips and prays harder than ever.

_ Please, please, please! It can’t end here! _

Kagami pushes harder than he ever has - and finally, it pays off. Aomine’s arm gives way as Kagami plunges the ball into the basket with a victorious shout.

The final whistle blows.

_ “103 - 102, SEIRIN HIGH WINS!” _screams the referee.

Kagami drops to his knees, head in his hands as he weeps with joy, and tears start to stream down Kuroko’s face.

* * *

They decide to spend the night at Kagami’s place, which is quite close to the stadium, especially compared to everyone else’s - particularly Izuki’s, Kiyoshi’s, and Riko’s, all the way on the other side of the city.

“I made him fist me,” Kuroko informs Izuki nonchalantly as they walk.

Izuki chokes on his own spit. “You made him _ what_?!”

“The blue balls ex,” Kuroko says, smiling at Izuki’s expression of disgust. “I made him fist me one last time.”

Wait. Aomine… _ fisted _… Kuroko?

“_Oh my God_,” Izuki says, realisation dawning upon him. “You meant fist-bump, didn’t you, you little shit!”

Kuroko bobs his head innocently. “Guilty as charged, senpai.”

Izuki sighs and cuffs Kuroko gently. “Next time, _ tell _ me what you mean. Clearly.”

“But then you won’t choke,” Kuroko says, the picture of an angel.

“Oh, no. I’ve taught you a little _ too _ well!” Izuki laments. “The student has surpassed the master!”

Kuroko laughs. Izuki smiles and continues, “Aomine-kun doesn’t have blue balls about basketball anymore, I suppose, so that nickname is redundant now.”

Kuroko actually puts his nose in the air and sniffs at that. “Not a chance, senpai. Aomine-kun is still an idiot who will always remain the blue balls ex.”

Izuki laughs and ruffles his hair. “If you say so.”

Kuroko nods happily, and there’s a spring in his step as he walks. His heart is starting to heal again.

It’s nice to see that there _ is _ some hope left for people in this world, Izuki decides, remembering the day Koganei showed off his new shot and smiling to himself.

* * *

Kagami’s house isn’t just large. It’s _ humongous._

“Kids these days,” Izuki mutters to himself once more as he crosses the threshold of the apartment that probably could hold his entire extended family in one go. He sounds like an old man, but he couldn’t care less.

As soon as they enter, Kagami passes out on the sofa, completely drained. Izuki doesn’t blame him - the kid’s played with everything he’s got against Aomine Daiki, no less.

“I’ll cook!” volunteers Riko, picking up the grocery bags and heading into the kitchen before Izuki or anyone else can stop her. The rest of Seirin exchange glances ranging from worry to outright terror, all of them having tasted Riko’s cooking before the training camps (thankfully, Izuki, Mitobe, and Kagami pulled together to cook some decent food _ during _ the camps, but just the memory of Riko’s food sends chills down everyone’s spines).

“Oh no,” Kiyoshi’s voice, thin and high with fear, sums up exactly how they all feel.

“I guess this is it,” says Furihata, sounding depressed. “We’re going to die. We’re going to be one of those tacky clickbait headlines that says ‘High School Boys Killed - By Coach’s Poison Cooking?!?!?!?!?! [Emotional]’ with fifteen exclamation points.”

Fukuda claps his shoulder. “We fought well, guys,” he avows, tears in his eyes. “But now it’s time to accept our fate.”

Kagami, having been stirred by the commotion, wakes slowly and blinks. “Wh—?”

“Coach is cooking. I’ll see you in heaven, Kagami-kun,” Kuroko informs him.

Kagami blinks at him, and then he jumps up in horror.

“_MY KITCHEN!_” he shouts, running for the room and nearly bumping into Riko, who comes out holding a large pot of _ something _that Izuki really doesn’t want to know the contents of.

“Your kitchen,” she says, an evil glint in her eye, “is _ fine,_ Kagami-kun. Now sit your ass down and take the damn food, _ got it_?!”

Kagami gulps, but salutes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” Riko says savagely, and dishes out her meal. Izuki pokes at his portion to discover it’s her version of a hot pot.

The vegetables are whole, and it’s lumpy. And to add to it all…

“This is a banana, Coach,” he says, deadpan, holding up the banana between his chopsticks. “Pretty sure it’s supposed to be somewhere else.”

“No dick jokes, Izuki-kun,” she scolds absently as she takes her own portion. “We’re eating.”

“No, I’m serious. You’ve put a whole banana in here - and you haven’t even peeled it. Are you _ sure _ this is supposed to be in here?”

“Yes!” Riko says impatiently.

“There’s a strawberry, too,” adds Koga, holding up one. Kiyoshi pokes at a kiwi and smiles sheepishly as he shows it to Riko.

“Those were for dessert,” Kagami says, sweatdropping.

“Oh,” Riko says, scratching the back of her neck. “I just used everything in the bag.”

At this, the entire team mentally facepalms.

Izuki tentatively peels his banana and takes a bite - he’s going to have to eat it, sooner or later. He is surprised to find that it actually tastes good.

“Captain?” asks Tsuchida, looking worried. “Are you… mentally sound?”

“I’m fine,” Izuki says. “It’s actually not bad at all. Try it.”

“It isn’t?” choruses the team - Riko included.

Izuki shakes his head. “Nope.” Nothing nearly as bad as the spoonful of Riko’s curry he consumed that one time. In fact, the banana is a nice offset to the tanginess of the sauce.

Koganei braves the food, and the expression on his face is pure bliss. “It’s amazing!” he proclaims. Izuki wouldn’t go quite that far, but it’s certainly much better than he expected.

Slowly, the rest of the team gets courageous enough to try the hot pot, and soon they’ve all polished it off. Riko looks delighted; her cheeks are flushed with happiness.

“Your efforts were really _ fruitful _ this time,” Izuki tells her, eliciting a pleased laugh at his pun for once. “I’m glad you didn’t—” He’s cut off by a roiling in his stomach and the sudden, inescapable urge to faint.

The last thing he hears before the world goes black is Riko’s exclamation of, “Oh, damn,you’re _ kidding me_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments make a blob happy~


	7. eagle versus aegis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14:08.20:  
And here we have it, the latest chapter of 'eagles were born to soar'! If you are an old reader, welcome back <3 It's probably best that you re-read it from the beginning, because I've updated the entire story into something far more cohesive and clean than it was before. If you're new, welcome! I hope you've enjoyed the story so far, and that you're having just as much fun following Izuki on his journey as I did!  
chapter song: [Heavy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dmQ3QWpy1Q) by Linkin Park! it's not perfect, but its tone and mood matches what i was going for this chap

Izuki wakes up feeling three things.

One is his stomach burning. Two is aching all over. And three is, bizarrely, _ very _ well rested.

He sits up straighter, rubbing his eyes. He fell asleep - or passed out, he corrects himself as last night’s memories settle properly in his head - on Kagami’s floor, against the leg of the table. Though he slept in the worst position possible and his body hurts all over (no doubt from the intense game yesterday, which he still can’t believe they won), he feels like he just had the best rest of his entire life.

Izuki’s eye catches the opened packet of protein powder on the kitchen counter, just visible from his position, and he groans.

_ Of course you put it in. I was a fool to assume you hadn’t. _

The burn in his stomach eases a little when he takes a drink from his water bottle, thankfully lying close by. He gets to his feet and sets about rousing his teammates who have passed out in strange ways. It looks almost like a horror scene from a bad slasher movie.

“What happened?” is the question as they each wake.

“Protein powder,” is Izuki’s answer every time.

Riko herself is sleeping happily on the couch, not having put in the protein powder for her own food. He taps her shoulder once, and she shoots up, eyes wide with fear.

“Wh - _ Izuki-kun_!" Her face is mortified. “Last night—”

“I know,” he cuts her off, wearing a grave expression. “It’s the powder, isn’t it.”

It isn’t a question. Riko sighs and nods.

“It’s supposed to _ help _ you,” she complains, sitting up. Izuki rolls his eyes.

“Sure, but it tastes like death - and probably brings it, too,” says Tsuchida, standing up and fixing his shirt.

Riko rolls her eyes. “Well—” she begins, but never finishes her sentence - instead, she chokes on air as she stares at the new entrant to the room, a curvaceous blonde.

The new entrant who, I might add, is dressed in barely anything but her underwear. Izuki shields his eyes immediately, looking away and blushing furiously. The rest of Seirin save Mitobe and Kuroko stares openly at her in shock or rage.

The rage part is all Kagami, of course, who barely flinches when she runs over to him, hanging off his neck and kissing him full on the mouth. He peels her away angrily, picking up a pile of clothes and chucking it at her. He must know her, Izuki realises as he peeks through his fingers at his teammate - still respectfully averting his eyes from the practically nude woman.

“_Put some damn clothes on!_” he hears Kagami barking in English.

“_Come on, Taiga,_” whines the woman, also in English. “_W__hy are you like this?_”

“_We’ve got company, Alex!_” Kagami replies, looking extremely irritated. “_They don’t understand English too well, so you have to speak in Japanese!_”

The woman rolls her large green eyes. “Fine, fine,” she mutters in Japanese, and then Izuki feels hands pulling at the palm covering his face.

_ She still isn’t wearing any clothes! _

“What a polite boy you’ve got on your team, Taiga!” she says cheerfully, pointing to Izuki, who turns pink. “But seriously, kid, I don’t care if you look at me or not. I’m not shy.”

_ Well, I am! _ Izuki wants to retort, but he keeps quiet and looks away once more as she tugs on the pants and shirt and moves to the front of the room.

“I’m Alexandra, Taiga’s teacher from the US,” she says happily. “You must be Taiga’s teammates!”

“Y - yeah,” stutters Koganei, sporting a nosebleed. Izuki wants to kick him.

“Yes, we are,” he says instead. “I’m Izuki, the captain. That’s Koga, our idiot shooting guard, then Kiyoshi, our center, Kuroko, our… well… our shadow, I guess?” A happy nod from Kuroko confirms Izuki’s words.

“Where - oh!” Alexandra gives a startled gasp when she spots Kuroko. “I didn’t even see you there!”

“That’s his thing,” Kagami says, unable to restrain a grin. “I told you.”

“_Nice!_” Alexandra says with a loud whistle.

The others introduce themselves, and she smiles and nods at each one, affably shaking hands and saying, “Wonderful to meet you!”

Izuki looks at Alexandra one more time, sensing something… _ familiar _ about her physique. The well-rounded calves, strong forearms, blonde hair, and green eyes. And her name, too…

_ Alexandra… come to think of it, wasn’t there a WNBA player called Alexandra Garcia at some point? _ ** _She’s _ ** _ his coach, huh… wow. That explains a lot of Kagami’s talent. _

Alex turns and scowls at him, noticing his gaze. “I know I said I don’t mind staring, but you don’t need to take it to that level!”

Izuki blushes heavily, realising his Eagle Eye is on.

“No!” he rushes to say. “It’s just - I know you. I’ve seen a lot of your games, it’s just the glasses kind of screwed with my memory. You’re Alexandra Garcia, the WNBA player,” he finishes, still pink in the face, and then turns to Kagami.

“So how long were you going to hold out on us that your coach played in the WNBA?!” he demands, wanting a distraction from the insane woman.

Kagami stutters. “I - uh - I—”

“Ah!” Alex interrupts, looking pleased. “The kid watches my stuff. See, I told you I was famous!”

“It’s probably because his dad thought you were hot or something,” Kagami mutters, and Izuki has to hold back a flinch because that’s pretty much bang on. His… _ father _ (he uses the term loosely) watched the WNBA solely for that purpose. Watching so much of the sport _ had _ gotten Izuki himself into actually playing basketball, however, so he tries not to think about it.

“Still,” says Alex smugly. “I told you.”

She turns to Riko and plops herself down on the couch next to her. Then she grabs Riko’s face and pulls her into an open-mouthed kiss. Izuki almost chokes because _ isn’t that illegal?! _

“THIS ISN’T AMERICA! You can’t greet people by kissing them!” Kagami shouts at her. Alex rubs the back of her neck sheepishly and pulls away from Riko.

“Sorry!” she laughs. “I’m just used to it!”

Riko visibly relaxes on realising Alex didn’t actually mean anything by the kiss. “I’m Aida,” she says, holding out a hand. “I coach these idiots.”

“Taiga told me about you,” Alex says, smiling and shaking the proffered hand. “I approve of your methods.”

Both women then get evil glints in their eyes, and before you know it, they’re whispering together like the best of friends (presumably discussing more torture methods for Seirin. Izuki shudders at the thought).

“All right, guys,” he says eventually, after nearly an hour has passed. “We can’t keep imposing like this - we should all go home and sleep. Later today, we’ll meet at the gym and watch some of Nakamiya’s games.” Nakamiya is their next opponent. “Then we’ll head to the stadium and watch their play live, got it?”

“Yes, Captain,” everyone choruses, and slowly files out of Kagami’s house after thanking him for his hospitality.

* * *

The next day, they head to the stadium once more - but this time as players. Izuki takes one look at Nakamiya and realises that they’re going to have to be as serious as their opponents. Nakamiya had been touted as a weak school that Seirin could easily overpower, but the complete readiness to give it their all might just topple Seirin’s current dominance.

They don’t put their first-years in – Riko wants the second-years to have this game. And it feels like the old times again, their teamwork just as fluid as it was before Kagami and Kuroko marched in and shunted Tsuchida and Mitobe out. Not that either begrudge the talented first-years for it, but Izuki thinks that they should get some playing time, too, after having worked so hard at the training camp. Besides, this’ll keep everyone on their feet - Riko could put anyone in at any time, so they should all be prepared.

They win, of course, though Nakamiya puts up a very good fight. Izuki has to admit he struggles a little against Mr. Dreadlocks, whose rebounding skills are nearly as good as Tsuchida’s. Still, they switch marks, and Izuki gets on their frankly terrible point guard, whom he outstrips by miles.

Mr. Dreadlocks is actually quite kind and emotional despite his scary exterior, it turns out. He grasps Koga in a hug as the teams prepare to walk off the court and tearily tells him to ‘win the Winter Cup for them’. Koganei agrees, a little uncomfortable at first but quickly reminiscing about the incident on the bus with a fond look on his face.

_ That’s another person we’re winning for, _ Izuki thinks, adding it to the tally of people he’s already got in his head. The Hyūga of back then, Kiyoshi, and now Dreadlocks.

_ God, _he really has to learn the guy’s name.

* * *

The Kogōmo North game is equally easy. Seirin establishes a lead early on and powers through the match, demolishing their opponents with a final score of 87 - 70. They do fall behind a little in the third quarter, owing to their opponents’ new determination, but Riko puts Kagami and Kuroko on the court for a couple of minutes, and they pull ahead once more.

After the game, Alex says that she wants to teach Kagami one last thing and whisks him away. Izuki lets him go with resignation, figuring that if she could teach him animal instinct, it’ll probably be something good she’s going to show him now. Kuroko goes off to train something with Aomine too, and the rest of Seirin scatters quickly enough, all heading back to their respective homes.

As they walk home, passing by the streetball court close to both their houses, Kiyoshi has a sudden request.

“Play one-on-one with me, Shun,” he says to Izuki, who stops and stares.

“Are you insane? We just played two games!”

“Both of those put together weren’t half as tiring as Tōō,” says Kiyoshi, and smiles at Izuki. “Come on, like old times!”

“But, Teppei, your legs—”

“I’m still an Uncrowned King,” Kiyoshi says, rolling his eyes. Izuki knows how much he hates to use that title; he must really want this game. “My injury isn’t going to weaken me that much!”

“Of course it isn’t,” Izuki says with a sigh. “Fine. Let’s play.”

On the court, they drop into the usual stance: Kiyoshi defending, Izuki attacking. He bounces the ball once, twice, thrice, activates his Eye, and looks directly at Kiyoshi.

He can immediately pick apart at least three gaps in Kiyoshi’s defence - _ were those there before? _ he wonders with a frown. Two of those gaps, one near his right wrist and another near his shoulder: Izuki can sense on analysis that they have been left on purpose to trick him. Those spots are easily defensible.

But the third one, near his left ankle, isn’t.

Izuki doesn’t need to complete his thought process before he acts on it, allowing his mind to take control of his body. He bounces the ball through Kiyoshi’s legs and gets around him using the weak spot at his ankle, then picks it back up and scores before Kiyoshi can react.

He turns, picking up the ball, and is surprised to find Kiyoshi no longer in position but smiling brightly at him.

“Thanks for the game, Shun,” he says.

“What do you mean, Teppei? We haven’t even started,” Izuki says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Kiyoshi shakes his head and laughs. “I got what I came for. Thanks!”

He wraps Izuki in a quick hug and bounds off to his own place. Izuki stands there for a full five minutes, nonplussed, before he shakes his head, picks up his own bag, and heads home.

They have to play Yōsen the day after tomorrow. He can’t sit around thinking about Kiyoshi’s weird behaviour now; he has tapes to watch and game plans to finalise.

As he heads home, taking the long route because he likes the scenery, he passes by the smaller of the two streetball courts near his home. Memories come into his head unbidden, of playing with Hyūga and the others on their team, of the numerous one-on-ones he’d had with Hyūga and their count of victories (the balance hangs 51 - 50, in Izuki’s favour simply because he’s better at direct attacks).

It doesn’t bring a bitter taste in his mouth like he expects it to. The image of fourteen-year-old Hyūga isn’t immediately contrasted with Hyūga from last year; there is no surge of affection for the person Hyūga used to be. And this does not surprise Izuki, not anymore. This has been a long time coming, after all.

_ I’ve loved you so long I didn’t know how not to, _ he thinks to himself with a little smile. _ But it’s finally time to let that love go. _

Izuki blows out a sharp breath and imagines his love - _ infatuation _ \- for Hyūga flying out of his body and dissipating on the breeze. In the place of that infatuation settles a warm fondness instead; for the memories they’d made together, for the things they had learned, for the way they’d grown.

It actually feels a lot better than he thought it would, like an enormous weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He doesn't love Hyūga Junpei the way he used to, the way he thought he did, and that’s okay.

It’s freeing, if he’s being completely honest with himself.

* * *

As expected, Kaijō, Shūtoku, and Rakuzan have also easily cruised through to the quarterfinals - all Miracle schools, they’re almost _ expected _ to reach this level. Yōsen is an enigma to Izuki, who still cannot believe everything he watched yesterday. It simply isn’t computing in his brain - but when it’s time for the game, and Izuki gets his first proper glimpse of Murasakibara Atsushi, things start falling into place.

_ 81 - 0. _

_ 133 - 0. _

These are a few of Yōsen’s scores in the previous matches they’ve played. And now as he looks directly at Murasakibara, Izuki can feel it coming true, awfully so, for himself and Seirin too.

_ No… we won’t give up here. Some eggplant upstart isn’t going to take away our Winter Cup hopes, _he says firmly to himself and marches on, keeping his chin up. He can’t show weakness at this stage, where the ultimate level of basketball takes place.

Murasakibara scowls at Kiyoshi as the teams line up to begin the game.

“I remember you now, Kiyoshi Teppei. I’m gonna crush you,” he says darkly.

Kiyoshi grins. “I look forward to a good game, Murasakibara-kun, but it’s Seirin who is going to win!” he affirms, sticking his hand out for a handshake. Murasakibara simply scoffs and brushes Kiyoshi aside roughly, sweeping away.

Izuki’s eyebrow twitches, but he says nothing, instead keeping his eyes on the rest of Yōsen. They’re absolutely enormous, seeming to tower over the entire court with their sheer height.

_ The Shield of Aegis indeed. _

Kagami holds out a hand, and the pretty boy with half his hair over one of his eyes smiles sweetly before slapping his own palm against Kagami’s. They squeeze each other’s hands and grin.

“Seirin’s going to take this, Tatsuya,” says Kagami confidently to the boy - this must be none other than Himuro Tatsuya, Kagami’s brother figure that Kiyoshi had mentioned. Izuki narrows his eyes slightly as Himuro grins back. 

“Play your hardest, Taiga,” he says. Not _Yōsen will win_, but a direct challenge to Kagami, with no school or team spirit. No, Himuro is in this entirely for himself. Is it for his pride, or for revenge? Izuki doesn’t know, but what he can guarantee is that it will be Himuro’s downfall.

“Never anything less,” returns Kagami, but there’s a hint of something in his eyes that Izuki can’t place, and that he doesn’t like very much.

The feeling of uneasiness persists as the look remains in Kagami’s eyes, but Izuki reassures himself that it will all be fine when he shakes hands with Okamura, Yōsen’s captain. His fingers tremble a little as he pulls away, however, the platitudes having done nothing to ease the pit in his stomach.

_ Focus on the game. Now is not the time to be worried. You should have been worried when playing other teams - now that Seirin’s come this far, you should be confident, dumbass! _

The voice in his head sounds oddly like a combination of Riko and Kiyoshi, and Izuki’s heart warms a little at the memory of his best friend. Never had Kiyoshi ever seen him as anything but a person who could soar to the greatest of heights, and that confidence he had - and still has - in him is what allows him to stand proud on this court as a captain today.

The ref blows her whistle for the tip-off, and Kiyoshi and Murasakibara jump for the ball. Murasakibara’s enormous height, however, enables him to touch the ball before it even reaches its highest point.

The referee blows the whistle once more.

“Seirin ball!” she shouts. On Yōsen’s bench, their coach facepalms, seemingly muttering, “Every damn time.”

Izuki feels his eyebrows go up. _ He’s done this before? _

But never mind about that. Seirin needs to use this chance to pierce the Aegis - Murasakibara’s impossible height makes it extremely difficult to win a tip-off against him. This is a shot they can’t afford to miss.

_ That was a good one! _Izuki smiles to himself and runs immediately for a fast break, despite the fact that Kiyoshi has the ball. Speed is the only way to defeat these monsters - they’re going to have to go faster than they ever have.

The ball comes hurtling his way, and Izuki grabs it, turning on his heel and readying himself to shoot. He’s positioned just inside the three-point line, and Murasakibara is halfway across the court—

_ Wait, what?! _

Murasakibara stands in front of him, hand held high above the arc of Izuki’s shot.

_ What? _ ** _How?!_ **

If Izuki shoots, Murasakibara will block it for sure. There’s only one thing to do - use the strategy they discussed before the match. They don’t have a passing specialist on their team for nothing, after all. No one can outrun a pass - or, in Murasakibara’s case, block it.

Izuki passes backwards without looking, using his Eagle Eye to determine where the pass goes. Yōsen’s point guard Fukui moves in for the steal, but he doesn’t account for Seirin’s invisible man.

Kuroko flicks the ball horizontally across the court before Yōsen can react, and the four and a half giants (half because Fukui is tiny compared to the others) stand stunned as Kagami catches it with ease.

_ Perfect. Murasakibara can’t get there in time - wait, WHAT?! _

Once again, Murasakibara Atsushi has defied all laws of nature and is already moving, half in front of Kagami, like an iron wall around the hoop.

_ What the hell?! _

“Kagami, pass!” Izuki shouts desperately. He will be blocked if he shoots now, and they cannot afford to give Yōsen possession - Seirin is slight and frail compared to Yōsen in terms of build. They cannot win a battle of brute strength here.

But Kagami does not listen; he shoots, eyes wild and wide with fear. Murasakibara flicks the ball downwards, looking very displeased.

“You won’t win against me,” he hisses.

Kiyoshi swoops in and scoops up the ball, dribbling it slowly as he retreats outside Murasakibara’s sphere of defence. Izuki looks at the purple-headed giant once more and swallows.

_ Not only is he enormous, but he’s got amazing reflexes. And his limbs are so unusually long, especially for a Japanese guy! The entire area inside the three-point line… it’s his domain. _

The only way to score against Murasakibara is high threes - they’re going to have to put Koganei to good use, but there’s only so many high shots he can make. Where’s a Midorima when you need him?!

“Koga!” Izuki yells at Kiyoshi, who understands immediately and passes to their shooting guard. However, Koganei is one of the slighter players of Seirin, shorter than Izuki himself, and is unable to break free from his guard, Himuro.

Koga strains against the far taller and broader Himuro, dribbling a few times. He moves into position - but Himuro is already jumping for the block.

“Go high!” Izuki yells at him.

Koganei trembles as he jumps, trying to process all the information being thrust upon him at once, and shoots. The arc of the shot is high, yes; but it doesn’t go long. The ball flies well over Himuro’s head, but it thuds down nearly three feet from the basket.

_ Fuck. _

Ray Allen’s form is not made for high shots - it’s made for long ones. Koganei cannot retrain himself to shoot both high and long in a matter of minutes: it is an impossible expectation to have of him.

Izuki pushes hard but struggles to shake his Chinese opponent. The guy is a giant - no, scratch that, they’re _ all _bloody enormous! The shortest player on the team, Fukui, is two full centimetres taller than Izuki, who stands at above average height for a Japanese male.

(And yes, before you begin, Izuki does know that he is the third shortest out of the starting five on Seirin. Shut up. It’s not his fault that he’s surrounded by huge people.)

The ball thuds to the ground, and Fukui, freeing himself quickly from Kuroko, darts forwards to pick it up. Seirin’s players are all trapped by their larger-than-life opponents, and even their strongest, Kiyoshi, is unable to break away from Murasakibara to block Fukui’s shot. It lands perfectly in the basket.

2 - 0, to Yōsen. Not good.

Izuki swings around to face Liu and activates Eagle Eye, his brain working furiously in order to find the weak spots in his defence. He scrutinises the taller male carefully, but there’s no way out unless he can pull off some really complex footwork to throw Liu off his balance, which isn’t particularly viable considering that Izuki’s got literally no space to move - he’s caged in by the beanpoles that his opponent calls arms.

Yōsen easily scores a few more times by virtue of their sheer size, simply tossing the ball over each other’s heads. Kiyoshi and Kagami, Seirin’s only hopes in terms of height, can’t shake their marks - Murasakibara and Okamura respectively - and stand powerless as they watch Yōsen score basket after basket.

16 - 0. Izuki’s chest tightens with irrational panic, but he draws in a deep breath and steadies his shaking hands with sheer willpower. Getting scared after they’ve come this far is idiocy, plain and simple. A sixteen-point lead is difficult, sure, but it’s nothing they can’t overcome with thirty-five minutes of game time left.

The ball is back in play once more, controlled by Fukui, who Izuki has to admit is a very good point guard. He watches the court attentively and makes his move only after careful deliberation - the perfect point guard for a strong and patient team like Yōsen.

Now, Izuki has played against better point guards, and Fukui’s course is almost laughably easy to predict. But that isn’t the hard part.

The hard part is actually _ intercepting _the pass.

Liu moves in an instant, and though Izuki chases after him, his strides are about five times as long as Izuki’s own, and he’s almost as fast as him. Izuki is left standing in place, rooted to the spot by astonishment as Liu races forwards and dunks as easily as breathing. The rest of Seirin is trapped save Kuroko, who can’t do much against giants like Yōsen.

It was the most _ obvious _ thing, and yet so unstoppable. Dread climbs up Izuki’s spine and clings onto his heart like a leech, and this time, however many platitudes he offers himself, it isn’t enough.

_ Come on, _ he tells himself. _ Pull it together, you’re the captain. And this isn’t irreversible damage. _

_ All that matters right now is that ball. _

With a mental war cry, he launches himself forward, going faster than he’s ever gone. Izuki dashes to the basket, gathering up the ball, and raises his hand in attack for the first time this game.

It feels better than anything he’s done today.

By some miracle, Koganei manages to shake Himuro and starts running towards the other side of the court. Izuki follows, keeping the ball safe from the wily Fukui with some evasive manoeuvres, and looks around to see who else is free. There’s Kuroko, of course, but Liu is just behind him, and though Izuki knows Kuroko will most likely dodge him, he isn’t willing to take even that 0.01 percent of doubt when Yōsen is eighteen points ahead. Kiyoshi, cornered by Yōsen’s most hulking titan Murasakibara, is a no-go, as is Kagami, locked in by the muscle-bound Okamura.

It’s going to have to be Koganei. The question is, can he make it? Himuro is already there, clawing for the block, and Koga is well outside the three-point line. Izuki makes eye contact with his friend and is surprised to see a resolute look in Koganei’s eyes.

That’s what seals the deal. Izuki doesn't think for once in his life, he just acts; the ball flies towards Koganei, who catches it before Himuro can intercept the pass and makes his quick step backwards for the Barrier Jumper.

The shot is perfect. It flies fast and low, too swift for even Murasakibara to stop it, and falls into the basket quickly.

…or so Seirin envisions.

Those dreams are crushed in the blink of an eye, because the purple-haired giant is _ there_, swatting the ball out of the air with preternatural ease. Murasakibara stares down at Koganei with unconcealed contempt, and turns away, dismissing him.

Never in his life has Izuki wanted to sock someone so hard. He grits his teeth and wraps an arm around the disheartened Koga’s shoulder, saying, “It’s okay. It’s nothing we can’t fix. So he’s a bastard, we’ve faced worse.”

Koga looks somewhat encouraged. “Th - thanks, Itzuki.”

Izuki grins, giving him a back slap. “We’ve got to lure Murasakibara out. He can’t stay under there forever, right? Then you’ll have a chance to sink some threes and sink their hopes, too. _ Kitakore_!”

Koganei makes a face at the pun, but it’s done its job. The light is back in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says and goes to his place, Izuki giving a satisfied nod as he looks on.

_ We _ have _ to stop the next shot. The gap between eighteen and twenty may just be two points, but the fact that they’re in different decuries will be enough to demoralise us. _

By the look on Riko’s face and her frantic gestures, Izuki supposes that she feels the same. He nods at her, drawing a finger across his throat to mime cutting Yōsen off, and her features relax into a deadly smile, knowing he and the others will follow through. Maybe Seirin can’t score yet, but it doesn’t mean they can’t stop Yōsen from getting the ball.

He whispers the new strategy to Kuroko, who darts about the court informing each of the other players. Izuki himself faces off against Fukui, who is in possession, and wonders just how much intense eye-staring he’s done in his career as a point guard. This year there’s been Takao, Hanamiya, Imayoshi (well, more like squinting on his part), Kasuga, and so many others he’s lost count.

Ah, well. Now isn’t the time, he decides, focusing back on what’s in front of him. It soon devolves into a thorough war of minds, both point guards duking it out to see who can hold out longer. Fukui and Izuki mark each other carefully, neither taking their eyes off the other for even a second.

Then it happens. Izuki’s eyes inevitably flick upwards to check the clock, with twenty-three seconds to go. Fukui doesn’t miss his opportunity and goes to fire off a pass in Liu’s direction - or, at least, he tries to.

_ I’ve got you exactly where I want you. _

Izuki interrupts the pass course before the ball can even go three inches from Fukui’s outstretched hands, gaining control quickly enough and starting to dribble.

“Well, aren’t we just having a ball?” he asks with a small smirk. “Oh, wait. You don’t anymore. _ Kitakore_!”

Fukui growls lowly and swipes at the ball, but Izuki leans back and dribbles it just out of his reach.

“Oh, no. Not today, Satan.”

_ Eight… seven… six… _

Fukui is starting to get more accurate with his attempts for the ball. Izuki decides he’ll have to pass and activates his Eagle Eye. He intakes the bird’s-eye view and assimilates it with the ground-level sight he’s already got. Kuroko is to his right and slightly behind him, and no one is marking him - probably due to the fact that Okamura and Liu are double-teaming Kagami.

_ Three… two... _

Izuki makes the pass without looking back, trusting Kuroko to predict his movements. The shadow doesn’t disappoint, catching the ball and holding it for two full seconds - longer than Kuroko’s ever dared to do - before he passes it off to Koganei at the very last second.

Koga is left holding the ball, nonplussed, as the whistle blows to signify the end of the first quarter.

* * *

“We don’t have much time,” Riko says urgently as they sit down on the bench. “It’s good that you stopped it going to twenty, but it’s still a large lead, and if Yōsen keeps on like this, they’ll cruise to an easy win. We can’t let that happen.”

“What’s your plan, Coach?” asks Kiyoshi.

Riko lets out a breath. “We have to score from the inside. Teppei, that’s all on you. The rest of you have to hold off your marks and focus your play onto him!”

“What about threes?” Izuki says, not completely sold on the strategy. He knows Riko wouldn’t suggest anything that isn’t the best move at that point in time, but he’s still a little dubious. “At least to catch up… it’s almost impossible to score on the inside with Murasakibara.”

“Isn’t impossibility our brand ambassador?” Riko jokes with a thin smile. Then she turns serious once more and says, “We can’t rely on three-pointers here. We _ have _to win on the inside; it’s not just for our own morale, but to break them, too. If we crack the impenetrable Aegis…”

“We can crack Yōsen’s heads, too,” Koganei completes with some awe. “Coach, you’re awesome.”

Izuki has to agree. He hadn’t thought about that; he’d been too busy trying to break through Yōsen’s physical power rather than their mental fortitude. _ Idiotic of me… I should be playing to my strengths. _

Riko grins, rubbing the back of her neck. “Thanks, Koganei-kun. Now let’s go win this thing!”

“Wait, Coach,” says Kuroko with a hopeful look. “I _ might _ have a strategy to break through for the first point.”

Izuki arches an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Kuroko lowers his voice to softer than his normal tone and explains his plan in a hushed whisper, with many excited (by his standards) gestures and a spark in his eyes. And as Seirin listens, they can feel some hope welling up in them again.

“Perfect,” Izuki says when Kuroko’s done and the break is over, rising from the bench. “Let’s go! Seirin, fight!”

“Fight!” shouts the rest of the team and makes its way onto the court, filled with new determination.

“_No wall is unbreakable,_” Seirin’s principal likes to say, and that statement is about to come awfully true for Yōsen.

* * *

When they’re back on the court, Seirin wastes no time in starting their quick ball cycling. Izuki passes to Kiyoshi, who immediately tries a post play against Murasakibara, slipping the ball around him. Murasakibara moves almost too quickly to stop it - but that’s not what Kiyoshi is going for.

As he touches the ground once more, the airborne Kagami catches the ball and moves in for the dunk. It’s impossible to stall; or would be impossible, for an ordinary player. But Murasakibara is part of the Generation of Miracles, and so he retaliates in time, placing one solid hand against the ball and blocking Kagami’s dunk. However, that isn’t what Seirin is attempting, either.

Kagami grits his teeth and grabs the ball with both hands, passing to an empty spot on the court just below him. That empty space is suddenly filled with a short blue-haired boy, who takes the most unorthodox shooting form in the history of basketball, palms held below and behind the ball.

Murasakibara answers with rage, actually _ jumping_, one enormous palm above the presumed path of Kuroko’s shot. His insanely quick reactions are worrying, yes, but it’s an exercise in futility even for the fastest respondent in the world.

Kuroko flicks his wrist upwards, and the ball _ vanishes _ through his opponent’s hand, wobbling around the rim of the basket and toppling in. There’s dead silence for a full second as the players of Yōsen and Seirin alike look on in complete shock.

Murasakibara quivers with fury, gritting his teeth and snarling, “_Kuro-chin_!”

Then the whistle blows, confirming Seirin’s score, and Izuki is hit by a wave of relief that weakens him at the knees. One breakthrough may not seem like much, but it’s enough to buoy Seirin once more.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d be the first to score against me in this tournament, Kuro-chin,” Murasakibara says dispassionately.

“Really?” Kuroko replies coolly. “Then you’d better be careful in the future.”

Izuki stifles a laugh and looks at the scoreboard.

Their score is 2 - 18, not a promising start, but more than any other team’s progressed so far. Yōsen isn’t invincible, and Seirin will make sure they walk away from this game with that lesson firmly learnt.

* * *

Kuroko’s Phantom Shot has cleared the path for Seirin at long last, and they start to score like… well, like _ Seirin_. The offence is a sharp sword once more, slicing smoothly through Yōsen’s tight defence. However, the other school continues to prove why they are a nationally renowned team, responding to Seirin’s points by incrementing their own. Kagami struggles against Okamura, who keeps taunting him with lines such as, “You’re so light, have you really been here all this time?” and the like. It’s clear that Seirin’s hot-headed ace is starting to lose some of his confidence.

Izuki narrows his eyes, trying to make more sense of the situation. He activates his Eagle Eye, zooming in on the two players from above so he can fully see how they’re placed and how to break Kagami out of this funk.

Kagami is close to Okamura, almost too close. Yōsen’s captain is taller and physically stronger than Kagami himself. He easily weighs fifteen kilograms more than Kagami; it’s no joke, but…

What if they use that same weight difference _ against _ Okamura? What if they use Kagami’s unique ability, and _ make _ Okamura jump? He won’t be able to match Kagami anyway, and if they can just distract Murasakibara: well, Seirin doesn’t have an attention redirection specialist for nothing.

Izuki looks at the clock. Five minutes to go - he can use thirty seconds to convey the plan to Kuroko, then act on it with the rest of the time. Koganei and Kiyoshi will catch on quickly, and even if they don’t, they know when to interfere with his plans and when not to.

“Kuroko!” he hails the smaller boy, running alongside him as they run up the court. “I need you to do us a favour…”

As he outlines the plan, he feels a little burst of joy and gratitude that he is here on this court today, to be able to direct and guide his team like this, to be with them and sail to victory together.

* * *

Izuki’s got the ball, and he is facing Liu once more. The taller is a challenging opponent, but not so much now that Izuki is controlling the matchup and actually has space to move his feet. He dances around the Chinese boy, making Liu wobble on his stilt-like legs, and passes directly to Kagami.

The ace looks bewildered when he catches the ball and gestures to Okamura with his head.

_ I can’t— _he mouths to Izuki.

_ Jump, _ Izuki mouths back.

Kagami looks pale, but he nods anyway. Izuki puts on his serious face and gives him a reassuring look - or what he hopes is a reassuring look, at any rate - and Kagami exhales visibly, then smiles and flashes a thumbs-up. The embers of a dying flame are starting to come alive in his eyes again.

_ No one can stop Kagami when he’s on fire. Not even a king or a god, _Izuki thinks with satisfaction and watches as Kagami springs upward. Okamura follows closely, reaching the basket at the same time as Kagami, and Murasakibara moves to join the block.

But something goes _ off _ with his jump, and he slides far left of where he _ should _ be. Murasakibara lands heavily on his ass, scowling up at Kuroko, who finally materialises in the top left corner of his vision.

“_Kuro-chin_!” he hisses venomously. Kuroko just smirks and walks away.

Izuki returns his attention to the basket, where Okamura is still in the air. Kagami, however, is far higher than Okamura is - and he hasn’t even reached the pinnacle of his jump, whereas Okamura is already falling.

Murasakibara rises clumsily and sprints towards the basket to replace his dropping upperclassman. Kagami doesn’t waste a second, dunking before Murasakibara can get within ten inches of the basket.

“Score, Seirin High! 15 - 29!”

Izuki grins and pumps his fist; the rest of the team does the same. He gives Kagami a congratulatory pat on the back and tells him, “The point is to beat him in what _ you’re _ good at, not what _ he's _ good at.”

Kagami laughs. “Yes, Captain,” he says, mock saluting and running off to guard Okamura once more.

Izuki cracks his knuckles, smiling to himself. So yes, they’re still fourteen points behind, and there’s only a minute left in the second quarter. So what? There’s still half a game to go, and to hell if he - if _ Seirin _\- doesn’t intend to win it.

It’s Yōsen’s possession, since Seirin just scored, and they’re quick, Izuki will give them that. But Fukui can’t outmatch him in a battle of the point guards, simply because Izuki has the edge in terms of his Eagle Eye and reaction time. And inevitably, their face-off happens.

Fukui tries to pass as soon as they lock onto each other. But Izuki isn’t allowing that, oh no. He quickly moves forward, attempting to swipe the ball out of Fukui’s grip. The other point guard holds it high above his head and goes for an airborne pass.

The ball stops seemingly in mid-air - or rather, Kuroko catches it. With a dirty look directed at Murasakibara, he performs one of his Ignite Passes and flings the ball all the way across the court to Kagami.

Kagami catches it, not even flinching, and breaks free from Okamura with ease, jumping and dunking before anyone can so much as blink. Izuki rubs gently at his eyes and looks once more - and Kagami’s smiling brightly like the entire world has just been served to him on a silver platter.

Wow. The wonders that one single breakthrough can do, huh?

19 - 26. The whistle blows for halftime, and Seirin returns to the changing rooms, an eagle reborn from a pile of plucked feathers.

* * *

During the time-out, Riko quickly explains their next strategy. She’s clear about the fact that she wants Kiyoshi on Murasakibara, and Kagami says straightforwardly that he and Himuro have to fight each other. That leaves Izuki with Okamura, Kuroko with Fukui, and Koganei with Liu, the best matchups they can get. Okamura is large but slow, so Izuki can handle him; Kuroko can simply disappear from Fukui’s field of vision; and Liu is tall but not as large as Okamura, as well as slow, so Koganei shouldn’t have too much trouble shooting.

They assume position once more and begin the fight again. Izuki watches the court carefully using his Eagle Eye, focusing on Kagami and Kiyoshi the most. The ball is in Himuro’s control now, and neither he nor Kagami yields an inch to the other.

Then, suddenly, Himuro goes for a shot. Almost _ too _ suddenly. Izuki narrows his eyes, sensing something off - but Kagami’s already jumped to block.

And that’s when Izuki notices it. Himuro hasn’t jumped.

_ It was a fake, _ he realises, blood chilling. _ Such a realistic fake… I haven’t seen the likes of this even in the NBA… _

Himuro ducks and dodges past Kagami, ball still in hand. Izuki zones in on him a little more, the same feeling that something isn’t right ringing in his head.

“Pincer attack!” Kagami shouts to Koganei, who is nearby. The shooting guard nods grimly and moves into position to stop the attack—

_ No! Jump! _Izuki’s mind urges Koga, despite the fact that Kagami is right, that it’s obviously not a shot.

Except it _ is _one. For Himuro’s legs bend at the knee, and then he jumps, sliding smoothly into a shooting position. The ball flies elegantly out of his hands and lands in the net, swishing around slightly before dropping fully inside.

17 - 31.

It’s too perfect for words. How do you even achieve that level of skill? Izuki feels jealous for a split second, before shaking his head and reminding himself that he isn’t that type of person.

He refuses to be embittered by his own lack of strength.

Izuki inhales sharply and gestures to Seirin to regroup. They’ve got nine minutes left in the third quarter - this is the time to catch up and pull ahead in the fourth quarter. So what if Himuro is insanely talented? Seirin will stall him like they’ve stalled everyone else, with the sheer force of their will and tenacity.

_ Faster, _ he urges his team with unspoken words, dictating the pace with his own quick movements. The passes rocket around the court like lightning, and finally, Koganei has the ball. Liu is not prepared for the sudden shift in gravity that he experiences when he tries to block the Barrier Jumper, and he stumbles forwards just as Koganei’s three-pointer lands in the basket.

20 - 31.

The next shot, Yōsen gets possession again despite Seirin’s best efforts. Their sheer height makes Izuki feel like a Lilliputian stuck in Brobdingnag, and he curses their tall stature. They toss the ball well over his head, scoring a basket quickly enough.

20 - 33.

No matter how hard Seirin tries, Yōsen keeps the ball like a barnacle clinging to a rock, and soon it’s with Himuro again. This time, there are no fakes or lies; Himuro’s form is too transparent as he goes for a simple jump shot. Kagami takes the opportunity and leaps for the block.

“I hope you don’t still think of me as your brother,” Himuro says to Kagami as they’re airborne. Izuki raises an eyebrow at that, but his attention is brought quickly back to the game itself. Every nerve in his body screams at Kagami to _ stop _jumping, for some strange reason. Himuro’s about to shoot anyway, why should his brain question it?

_ Something _ is wrong about this whole situation, he knows it, and if he were marking Himuro, he might have some idea how to stop it, but he _ doesn’t _and—

The ball flies straight through Kagami’s hand.

Izuki blinks a few times, trying to comprehend what he just saw. Kagami falls on his butt, staring mutely up at Himuro as the ball drops into the basket.

20 - 35.

“Don’t let our brotherhood hold you back,” Himuro says savagely, and he looks deranged. “Come at me like you’re trying to kill me.”

Kagami gulps from where he sits on the floor, and Izuki’s a little shocked to see _ tears _ moistening his eyeballs. He lifts a hand, pretending to wipe his mouth but actually dabbing at his eyes, then stands on shaky legs.

Izuki makes his way quickly over to him: no one else has noticed Kagami’s state except for Himuro, still wearing that insane look. Izuki throws him an icy glare that doesn’t even make him flinch and turns back to Kagami, gently thumping his back.

_ Something isn’t right about that Himuro. He’s so full of… I don’t know what it is, but it feels so wrong… _

“Come on,” he says in a soft voice. “I know Himuro is your brother figure, and the shit he’s saying hurts like hell. But you’ve got to ignore it and keep moving. Seirin’s your family on the court now, not him.”

Kagami nods slowly. There’s still some hesitation in his eyes, but he is listening to Izuki, and that’s a start.

One can only hope that it’s a good enough start to get Kagami going once more.

* * *

It isn’t.

Each time Kagami is up against Himuro, something or other goes wrong, and he falters. Luckily he manages to take Himuro down with him each time, keeping the score the same as it was, but there’s only so much luck one person can possess.

“I developed this Mirage Shot specifically to use against you,” Himuro says with a smile that’s a little too cold and calculating. “I’m sorry, Taiga. But this is the way it has to be. If you don’t buck up and give it your all… I’m afraid this is where it ends for you.”

_ Himuro was right, _ Izuki realises with a sick feeling. _ Kagami’s emotion is clouding his gameplay. He’s not thinking straight. _

_ We have to sub him out, or we may end up throwing this match. _

He looks over at Riko, who seems to have the same idea. Nodding, she calls for the switch, deciding to put Mitobe in to fill Kagami’s shoes and to rest Kuroko, too.

“But—!” Kagami protests when he’s dragged off the court.

Izuki simply shakes his head. “Come back when you’ve cooled down and decided to play with your full strength against Himuro. Until then, we’ll take care of him.”

Kagami simmers but heeds his captain’s orders, storming out of the court on the pretext of ‘getting some air’; Kuroko goes with him. Izuki puts them both out of his mind and focuses on Tsuchida and Mitobe, welcoming them to the game with a smile and thinking of what changes he’ll need to make to the play style to fit Mitobe’s defensive attitude and Tsuchida’s less aggressive approach.

The cogs fall into place very quickly, what with all five second-years playing on the team. The old Seirin is back in full form, and they dominate the court, taking Yōsen by surprise at this sudden shift in gear.

The first basket comes easily to up the score to 22 - 35. Thirteen points behind; it’s a large lead, but one they can overcome with seven minutes left in the third quarter.

Now Kiyoshi goes up against Murasakibara, this time engaging in a post battle. He takes a stab at shooting, but Murasakibara is too quick for him. However, that isn’t Kiyoshi’s plan, oh no. He uses his yaoi hands - sorry, Izuki _ totally _means ‘Right of Postponement’ - to grab the ball back from mid-air and perform a double clutch layup.

Yet again, however, Murasakibara stuns with his insane agility and _ blocks _ the shot, forcing it to bounce off the backboard. Izuki swoops in as fast as he possibly can, grabbing the rebound and running for it.

Kiyoshi has made his way outside the three-point line, no one guarding him because what center sinks threes? He looks to Izuki, and with a split second of eye contact, Izuki knows instinctively what Kiyoshi’s asking for.

He passes, and Kiyoshi shoots a three that shocks Yōsen into immobile silence. The basketball swishes gently in the net before dropping to the ground, and the whistle blows to indicate that it’s Seirin’s score.

25 - 35.

Himuro is quick to respond with a perfect jump shot of his own, breezing through Mitobe’s defence like air.

25 - 37.

Izuki wonders exactly who this guy is and can’t help a flash of admiration; then he remembers the ugly look on Himuro’s face earlier, and respect is replaced by disgust.

For the next play, Izuki and Kiyoshi lock eyes once more, finalising the strategy they’re planning to use. They’ve been working on this switch for a while now, and Izuki is confident that it will_ play out _perfectly - that was a good one!

Yōsen stands stock-still when Kiyoshi calls for the next play, taking control of the flow of events. Seirin, however, isn’t surprised - Kiyoshi’s pass sense is on par with Kasuga and Fukui, both great point guards, and he can play the position as well as required. Not one but two PGs on the court, one wildly unpredictable and the other able to change play styles in a split second, will throw Yōsen off its rhythm like nothing else. And, Izuki thinks happily, it has the added benefit of making Murasakibara jump to stop Kiyoshi’s mid- and long-range shots.

Murasakibara looks _ pissed_, and the rest of Yōsen is starting to lose their cool and collected demeanour. Fukui openly glares, as does Okamura - Liu’s arrogant expression has changed to something like mild panic. Himuro’s perfectly gelled hair even has a few strands out of place, something that gives Izuki vindictive pleasure to see.

When one says that Kiyoshi plays as a PG, it’s not really the position of point guard so much as an odd freestyle. He takes the opportunity to score like a shooting guard, uses his game sense like a point guard, his power like a center, his agility like a power forward, and his versatility like a small forward. It brings a variable element to the game and changes the pace and style of the match completely.

Kiyoshi moves into position, stopping just outside the three-point line and calling for the attack as he goes up against Fukui. Izuki passes him the ball and watches carefully, waiting for the signal.

Kiyoshi jumps, his form reminiscent of a three. Fukui can’t react in time - he’s shorter and can’t jump as high. Murasakibara, however, growls, “Everything you do is so annoying!” and springs forward, launching his enormous body into the air to stop the shot.

Then Kiyoshi’s fingers tighten around the ball ever so slightly - the signal Izuki has been waiting for.

Without lifting his eyes from his mark Himuro until the very last second, Izuki raises his hands to catch the ball that Kiyoshi tosses his way using his Right of Postponement and shakes Himuro free, stunning the taller boy with his speed. He runs towards the basket, towards Liu who’s already jumping to stop him. Murasakibara comes up behind him, too; the arc of his leap is way skewed since he’s jumping from so far behind, but he’s tall enough to reach Izuki’s raised hands.

But Izuki didn’t come to this match unprepared. Kiyoshi and he have been training for this very moment, to coordinate in a time of need and pierce through Yōsen’s Aegis.

Izuki turns his Eagle Eye on, the new perspective telling him exactly what to do, and launches the ball upwards. Upwards, towards Kiyoshi who’s already in the air, soaring towards the basket as Murasakibara falls. Kiyoshi grabs the ball out of the air with his left hand, using his new Vice Claw for the first time, and dunks powerfully over Murasakibara’s head.

27 - 37.

“He pierced the Eagle Wall?!” comes the shocked gasp from the whole crowd, who up until now was cheering for Yōsen. Izuki grins and gets back up, taking possession once more. He passes to Kiyoshi, who goes for the same play again.

Murasakibara jumps. Himuro calls out, urgency in his tone, “Atsushi!”, realising in the nick of time what Seirin is planning.

Kiyoshi moves to shoot - and then he passes back to Izuki, who moves in for the kill again. He hears Murasakibara land heavily and smiles to himself - the younger boy will be too slow to reach him.

Izuki shifts into a shooting position.

_ It’s now or never, _ he thinks and makes his move.

Koganei catches the back pass perfectly and shoots from where he’s been waiting like a hungry hawk just outside the three-point line.

30 - 37. The eagle finally zeroes in on its prey and smiles coldly.

“Time-out, Yōsen High!”

* * *

The first thing Izuki notices about Kagami when he goes to the bench is the noticeably more fired-up look in his eyes. The second is the absence of his familiar necklace around which his ring usually hangs.

“It was the last sign of our brotherhood. I threw it away,” Kagami clarifies. “If I have to defeat Tatsuya, I have to give it my all.”

Izuki nods. “Perfect. I’m proud of you.”

Kagami smiles at the praise.

“But before you go in to confront him,” Izuki adds, “can you give me a few minutes with him? I have a bone to pick with the guy.”

Kagami looks confused. “Uh… sure, but can I ask why?”

“You can ask him after the match,” Izuki says, smiling. Kagami doesn’t seem satisfied, but accepts his words.

Riko gives them a quick pep talk and sends them off with a suspicious gleam in her eyes. Izuki tries not to think about it too much, but he can’t help feeling the same way.

* * *

Izuki and Himuro match up against each other in the last few minutes of the third quarter. Izuki doesn’t like the look in Himuro’s eyes - _ something _ is just so off about him, and yet so awfully familiar.

“Why?” he asks, unable to contain his curiosity. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” Himuro asks, smiling prettily. Izuki’s almost fooled but for the predatory expression in his grey-black eyes.

“Like…” Izuki searches for the word even as Himuro moves the ball down out of his reach. “Like so…”

_ Wrong time, memories! _he thinks angrily as a wave of recollections hits him all of a sudden.

_ The midnight-haired boy stands alone on the dark street basketball court. Black bangs hang in his eyes that glow silver with tears. _

_ “Why?” he whispers to himself. “Why? I work so hard… yet I can never compare to everyone else. Why me? I do the most out of all the people on this team…. why do I have to be the one to advance the least?” _

_ He rolls the basketball in his hands, staring down at it with a sour taste in his mouth. He’s got half a mind to throw it away and almost lifts his hand to do so when a searing pain rips through him just at the thought. _

** _How can I give up basketball? How can I even THINK of giving up on this sport that has given me so much happiness? How can I be angry at it?_ **

_ And instead of throwing it away, he swallows his tears and decides something. _

** _If someone else is better than me, then I just have to work hard enough to reach their level. And if I have to work twice as hard as everyone else, then I will. For basketball. For my family. For my friends._ **

** _For _ ** ** _myself_****_._ **

_ The boy lifts the ball over his head, pushing off the ground into the air. And it’s as if he’s seeing with new eyes all of a sudden. It feels like he’s looking at the court from _ ** _above _ ** _ rather than the normal perspective, and the new shift allows him to predict exactly how he should shoot. _

_ His eyes glow silver again, but this time it’s not because of tears. The ball leaves his hands and flies in a perfect trajectory, landing through the basket without so much as grazing the rim. _

Izuki swallows back the memory and looks at Himuro once more, and that’s when it hits him.

“So bitter,” he reflects aloud, answering Himuro’s question.

_ That’s the emotion in his eyes. That’s what I might have become, if I had let my anger grow. _

And suddenly he isn’t seeing Himuro Tatsuya anymore, but a version of _ himself_, a version with darkened eyes and a mocking smile and pain and rage bubbling below the surface. Immensely talented, but not able to break the last barrier. Because he’s an ordinary man, and it’s as much as an ordinary man can do.

Strong, so strong. But also so terribly, heartbreakingly _ weak_. Weak in a way that today’s Izuki Shun will never be.

“Bitter?!” Himuro splutters, utterly bamboozled. “What - I—”

“You’re bitter,” Izuki continues, reaching for the ball, “because Kagami is better than you. Because Kagami’s a prodigy, and you’re as good as ordinary gets. Because you work, and work, and yet it’s never good enough next to those god-like geniuses of basketball. It’s not fair… you’ve loved basketball longer, so much _ more _ than they do. It’s not fair that they’re so much more talented than you are, and you _ hate _ it. You want to show them all, even your precious Atsushi.”

“Shut up,” Himuro hisses, red in the face.

“You know I’m right.”

“No, you aren’t,” Himuro almost shouts, breath coming in ragged pants. “You don’t know who I am. You don’t know what I do. How would _ you _know about me and the way I feel?!”

“Oh, Himuro,” Izuki says with a small and sad smile. “I know because I’ve been there. I know because I see myself in you.”

His gaze follows Himuro’s slowing dribble, and then he looks back up, making eye contact with terrified grey-black irises to deliver the punchline of the speech.

“I know because I almost _ became _ you.”

Himuro snarls wordlessly and ducks down right. Izuki listens to his instincts and stays in place. And it turns out, it’s the right thing to do. Because Himuro _ isn’t _ trying to shake him.

Instead, he moves back upright and jumps for the Mirage Shot.

But this time Izuki _ knows_. It’s what his instincts have been telling him the whole match - the Mirage Shot is just that. A _ mirage_.

And once you know it’s a mirage, all that’s left is to see through it.

Izuki turns his Eagle Eye on and looks down at the court as he jumps for the block.

The second that he sees Himuro's hands change position, he lunges wildly for the ball, attempting to smack it right out of the air.

The orange sphere passes right through his hand. But Izuki's block, though late, has effectively stunned Himuro, and the angle of his shot goes awry ever so slightly, bouncing off the rim of the basket and knocking Himuro to the ground with shock. Izuki lands gracefully and stares down at Himuro from where he stands, his eyes conveying all the words he doesn’t need to say. Then he segues out fluidly to let Kagami take his place as Himuro’s rightful opponent.

Izuki’s said what he has to say, done what he needs to do. Now he can only hope that it gets to Himuro’s head, and that it gives Kagami the edge he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an extremely impactful chapter for me to write. It contains one of the scenes that sparked this entire story - the Izuki vs Himuro scene! It's pretty brief, and probably not what you guys were expecting, but I'm quite happy with it and I hope you will be too. 
> 
> comments make a blob happy~


	8. clawing through mirages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 21.08.20:  
this chapter was pretty heavy to write!! i really got into the game's action, and the last scene hit me really hard. thank you all for the kind words, and i hope this chapter lives up to expectations <3  
chapter song: [Courtesy Call](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hxqW1Eq0iP4) by Thousand Foot Krutch! it perfectly describes seirin's comeback imo.

The shock that Izuki gave Himuro doesn’t seem like a real advantage at first. Himuro gets past Kagami with another one of his beautiful fakes - _ yes_, Izuki will admit he’s a fantastic player, he isn’t above that - and gets far enough away from him to make the shot.

But Kagami didn’t defeat Aomine for nothing.

Before Himuro can blink, he’s _ there_, knocking the ball out of his former brother’s hands and letting it drop to the court. Then he slips around Himuro, grabbing the ball and dashing to the basket as if the ground is on fire.

_ A one-on-one with Murasakibara? Well, Kagami’s certainly brave. _

Kagami jumps from the free throw line and sets his wrist in a strange angle that Izuki recognises with equal parts dread and excitement.

_ Is that— _

His hand draws nearer and nearer to the basket. He’s so high above the rest, Izuki couldn’t even fathom soaring so loftily.

But impossibly, unfeasibly, _ Murasakibara stops it_.

The ball bounces on the court, and Kagami drops like a stone.

“Don’t think that’s all it takes to win,” Murasakibara snarls.

But Kagami doesn’t take heed of his words. His red gaze is fixed on Himuro, and he’s smirking for the first time today.

* * *

They triple-team Kiyoshi. Of _ course _ they triple-team Kiyoshi. Liu and Okamura are both taller than Kiyoshi, and though Fukui is short, his defence is tight enough to stop Kiyoshi from escaping.

The ball is with Himuro, and he goes for his Mirage Shot once more. Kagami goes to stop it, but Lady Luck, fickle as she is, drops the ball - ha! That was a good one! - on his end, and he slips on a patch of sweat. Though he jumps, it’s too late, too low to block—

And yet _ somehow _his fingers graze the ball, which goes on to smash against the rim of the basket and fall to the ground.

Kagami smiles victoriously at his opponent and says, “The real game is just starting, _ Himuro_!”

The game goes on. Kiyoshi is triple-teamed once more and forced to pass to Izuki, who grits his teeth and shoots without thinking. The ball almost topples in, but falls out at the last second, and Izuki curses his hasty reaction.

Murasakibara moves for the rebound. It’s almost certainly his - but for Kiyoshi, who uses Vice Claw at the perfect moment to perform the most fantastic putback dunk Izuki’s ever seen.

32 - 37.

_ Let’s go, Seirin! _

That’s when Kiyoshi stumbles. Izuki rushes to his best friend’s side with alarm, giving Kiyoshi a supporting hand and asking, “Is it your legs?”

Kiyoshi shakes his head – _ liar, liar _ \- and smiles guilelessly. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

Izuki knows that forcing Kiyoshi to sit on the bench will do nothing for the situation, or for the team. His one chance at wielding a captain’s authority to convince him into being benched, he’s already used versus Kirisaki Daīchi.

He sighs in resignation and lets Kiyoshi go, unable to help wondering if it’s worth it.

* * *

Koga gets the ball and passes to Kiyoshi the next time around. But Yōsen seems to like their idea of triple-teaming Seirin’s center a little too much, and Kiyoshi’s forced to pass to Izuki. Then it becomes a three-on-one, Izuki, Mitobe, and Kagami facing Murasakibara.

With no choice, Izuki gives the ball back to Kiyoshi, who goes in for a shot. However, his form, his timing, everything’s off by just a millimetre, and the ball bounces off the rim of the basket.

Yōsen’s players grin and pump their fists.

But they haven’t counted on Mitobe Rinnosuke. Mitobe boxes in Murasakibara with all his might, using every ounce of that intense defensive force he’s practised over the years. For all Murasakibara’s strength, even he has some trouble shaking the veteran Mitobe, and it gives Kagami just enough time to take the putback dunk.

34 – 37. A three-point difference; Seirin has just come back in full force.

However, that isn’t to last. Murasakibara’s violet eyes darken with fury, the likes of which Izuki’s never seen before, and he snarls, “I’m so sick of you, Kiyoshi! You think you can win just by working hard? I’ll show you how unfair this shitty sport is!”

And before anyone knows it, he’s jogging off down the court, calling for passes and getting ready to strike back.

Murasakibara Atsushi is now on offence – and if Izuki’s being honest, it scares him more than it should.

* * *

Izuki was right to be scared. Murasakibara’s offense is no joke.

That enormous body is no hindrance to his speedy movements across the court, and he looms over Seirin like a powerful, all-seeing shadow. At first, Izuki thinks that it’ll be easier to score and runs for the fast break, but though he goes as fast as he possibly can, Murasakibara is right behind him, only five metres or so of distance between them.

_ Not enough. _

Izuki pushes himself to move _ faster, come on, Shun, _but his body won’t listen; there’s only so much it can take. And when he finally runs (not the time!) out of stamina, Murasakibara overtakes and stops in front of him.

“Izuki!” Kiyoshi calls for the ball, and Izuki gives it to him. He leaps for the shot, and Murasakibara jumps to stall him. Kiyoshi goes for the usual move, to pass down to Izuki.

“I’m sick and tired of that move!” Murasakibara growls, and flicks the ball out of his hands. He touches ground, the entire court trembling with the force of his landing, and runs across to the basket.

No one can stop the dunk that is coming. Murasakibara plunges the ball into the basket with both hands, winds swirling around him as he reaches the ground once more.

“The strongest hammer that can break even titanium,” Izuki overhears Araki saying. “Thor’s Hammer.”

_ Titanium for a Titan, _ Izuki thinks, the pun coming to his head before he can stop it_. _He shakes his head and zones back into the game, where Fukui is passing to Murasakibara.

The gigantic fellow leaps, going for a dunk. Kagami is there in a second, placing his hand against the ball in a futile effort to stop it.

He's blown back, falling to the floor like a dead fly in front of Murasakibara. The wind swirls around the purple-haired male as he drops from where he’d been hanging off the basket.

42 – 35, to Yōsen.

A sick crack is heard as Murasakibara lets go of the hoop. Izuki can't believe it even as he sees it, even as he hears it – but it’s happening as he looks on.

The hoop stand snaps cleanly in two, and Izuki is reminded terribly of Kagami holding Kaijō's broken hoop in his hand; it’s like comparing an ant to an elephant. Cold dread washes over him as he and the rest of Seirin stand in awe at Murasakibara's raw power.

_ It’s truly a crazy sight to see. Watching this, I finally understand why they are called the Generation of Miracles. _

The referee gulps and calls, “We’ll now be breaking for five minutes until the hoop can be replaced!”

* * *

The break is a quiet one, and Seirin moves back onto the court in still silence. When the game begins again, it takes Izuki by surprise how quickly they regain their pace. Murasakibara, still on offence, is the main reason for that.

He dunks past both Kagami and Kiyoshi, effectively knocking Kiyoshi to the ground with the force of his gameplay. Kiyoshi lies there, limp, still and exhausted from the strain he’s been putting on himself the whole game.

Surprisingly, Murasakibara _ helps him up_. He holds Kiyoshi up by the arm like a rag doll and says, “This is reality. Even when you gave it your all, you couldn’t protect anyone. But did you have _ fun _ playing basketball?” The last words are laced with so much venom, Izuki almost flinches but for the boiling rage in his veins.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” he demands angrily of Murasakibara, cradling Kiyoshi in his arms.

Murasakibara only shrugs. “I was just helping him up.”

Kiyoshi’s legs tremble under Izuki’s grip. Izuki’s own heart beats with fear for his friend – his brother almost – but he controls himself and focuses on holding the fragmented center together, allowing him to rest most of his weight on Izuki. He drags him back to the bench and tries not to think about the implications this will have on the team.

* * *

They call a time-out – one that they desperately need.

“Murasakibara is wreaking havoc out there. We need a plan,” says Kiyoshi urgently.

“More than that, we need a _ miracle _ to win,” interjects Furihata despairingly. “Any ideas, Izuki-senpai?”

“Just ran outta stock. I’ll make sure to let you know when I order a new shipment,” Izuki says dryly. “_No_, Furi, I don’t. If I did, do you really think we'd be holding this timeout right now?”

Furihata shakes his head and looks timidly at Izuki, who sighs. “Sorry. This game’s got me a little on edge.”

“You're fine,” Riko reassures, smiling despite their dire situation. “Besides, you're forgetting we_ do _ have a miracle.”

Kuroko stands up from the bench, fire in his bright blue eyes. “Izuki-senpai, I can distract Murasakibara-kun at least for a little while,” he says firmly. “Please let me play!”

Izuki looks at Riko and receives a confirmatory nod from her before giving his own consent.

“Fine,” he says. “Go out there and do what you do best.”

Kuroko nods happily, the thrill of the game back on his face, and walks onto the court with resolute eyes. As he goes, Kiyoshi claps him on the shoulder and says with a voice full of pain, “I’m sorry to put this on you, Kuroko. But it’s up to you now.”

Kuroko just shakes his head. “You've got nothing to be sorry for, Kiyoshi-senpai. You've given us the chance to breathe again. We’ll take care of this for you,” he finishes, and strides off onto the court.

* * *

When the game begins again, the newest versus battle is a little more than bizarre. It's every paradox ever: tall on short, lighter colour scheme on darker one, strong on slight. Yes, Kuroko is marking Murasakibara, and doing a damn good job of it too. As usual, his misdirection is more than handy to trick his opponent – whether into relinquishing the ball control or into fouling.

Kuroko chooses the latter. He easily goads the childlike Murasakibara, their wide contrast in personality and beliefs only helping the clash. Then he goes for the usual method against the giant, the way they'd first broken through: Phantom Shot.

Murasakibara has the right idea in blocking the shot. Unfortunately, it's not the shot he's up against here.

Kuroko's Phantom Shot is essentially just a pass towards the basket. However, a slight change in direction of that pass and there you have it, a ready-made alley-oop that Kagami wastes no time in taking.

35 – 44. A nine-point gap.

Eventually, it’s Kuroko's misdirection that does the real trick, though; Murasakibara loses sight of him and crashes into him, incurring a charging foul. It lifts Seirin's spirit more than words can say.

“Seirin ball!”

Koganei is quick to score, landing a shot using his regular form that takes Okamura by surprise. 38 – 44.

Seirin then decides to use the new formation they've been working on for a while now. On the surface, it looks like a regular man-to-man full-court pressure defence, but there's so much more to it than meets the eye. Quite literally, considering Kuroko's whole disappearing gimmick.

Yōsen is easily fooled. Izuki relishes their shocked expressions when their marks suddenly change – particularly Murasakibara, who is readying himself to catch the ball when it’s flicked away out of nowhere. Courtesy of Seirin’s resident miracle worker, of course.

Kuroko doesn’t waste his chance, sneaking to the basket unnoticed and releasing his Phantom Shot. It makes a perfect basket to bring the score to 40 - 44. Yōsen retaliates quickly, though, a three from Himuro ensuring that there is once more a seven-point gap between the teams with 40 - 47.

Izuki is then against Fukui, who has the ball and attempts to pass him. When he does eventually break through Izuki’s defense, he smirks and even laughs a little.

_ Don’t celebrate too soon, _ Izuki thinks, keeping a cool face as Kuroko comes through once more, tipping the ball cleanly out of Fukui’s hands.

The look of shock on the other point guard’s face says it all - _ You let me through knowing he was there?! _

Izuki grabs the ball and shoots, the picture of calmness. The buzzer rings just as the ball slips neatly into the basket.

“Yes!” he cheers, proud of the shot - but to his surprise, the ref just shakes her head.

“No count!”

Izuki stares at her. “What? But I let go _ before _ the buzzer!”

The ref shakes her head again, voiding the shot. Izuki steams a little but regains his composure quickly, Kagami telling him not to mind.

“Yeah. I might have been a little late,” he says instead. It’s easier to blame himself; helps put it out of his mind. “Come on.”

Then they head to the bench for the two-minute break before the fourth quarter.

* * *

“I don’t know how long we can keep up this full-court defence,” Izuki says to Riko, wiping his face with his towel. “I’m already starting to tire, and so are Koga and Kuroko.”

“We can do it,” Kagami interjects tersely. “We _ have _ to. We don’t have a choice. I have an idea, but I’m not sure if we can adapt it this late in the game.”

“Actually, we might,” Riko says, giving Kagami an appraising look. “You were thinking about trying to run Yōsen’s two-three zone defence, right?”

Kagami nods. “With myself acting as our version of Murasakibara.”

“Whoa there, cowboy,” Izuki says quickly, placing a hand on Kagami’s arm. “You sure you can pull it off? We can take that stance no problem, but that’s going to ask a lot out of you!” He isn’t willing to risk more players the way they risked Kiyoshi.

Kagami shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he says fervently. “As long as you guys can do it… then I can, too. I _ have _ to. For Kiyoshi-senpai.”

Izuki hears a soft and sharp intake of breath from next to him and knows just how touched Kiyoshi is by that statement. He smiles a little to himself - the gentle giant deserves every bit of it.

“So, Izuki-kun, how would you structure that kind of defence?” Riko asks.

Izuki summons up the image of Yōsen in his head, viewing it through the Eagle Eye. Murasakibara, their iron wall, covering the entire two-point area, along with Okamura and Liu on either side of the hoop. Fukui and Himuro, the guards, at the top of the zone.

How would _ he _ build it?

Izuki envisions the Seirin equivalent of each Yōsen player falling into place based on positions. Then he rearranges them just so, making sure to play to each one’s strengths.

“Kuroko and I should head up the front,” he starts.

Riko nods and completes, “Koganei-kun on the left, Mitobe-kun on the right. Kagami-kun will defend the entire centre area.”

Izuki laughs. “You’re a mind reader, aren’t you?”

Riko shrugs. “Guilty as charged.”

“That sounds good,” Kuroko adds his two cents’ worth. Kagami grins, and Mitobe smiles, as does Koganei. The bench players too agree happily… except for one.

“Hey, Teppei, c’mon. Say something.” Izuki nudges him gently. Then he freezes on seeing Kiyoshi’s face - because there are _ tears _ rolling down his cheeks, and a wondrous look in his eyes even as water pours out of them.

“Teppei? Why are you _ crying_?!” Izuki asks, alarmed.

Kiyoshi looks startled. “Heh? I’m crying? Why?”

“That’s what we’re asking you!” Riko says in mild annoyance. “Teppei, what—”

Kiyoshi sniffles a little, and then, “I think I know why.”

“Why?” Izuki asks gently, placing a comforting hand on Kiyoshi’s back.

“Because you guys are so reliable even when I’m not there… I thought, all this time, I have to shield you… but you’re taking care of me, too. I… I now realise… I don’t need to be alone in protecting my team. They are protecting me right back, because that’s what teammates do.”

There’s silence for one full second.

Then Izuki breaks it, saying flatly, “Fukuda, get my slapstick out of my bag, will you? A certain idiot needs his ass kicked.”

“Not the time!” Riko scolds, but Fukuda gets the piece of wood anyway. Izuki whacks Kiyoshi’s back with it as he listens to the rest of the strategy.

“I’m glad… that I found a team like this,” Kiyoshi says finally as Seirin prepares to go back on the court. He stands on shaking legs, eyes still moist. “We don’t support each other because we are a team. We are a team because we support each other. Thank you for this team - no, this family that you’ve given me!”

“You can get sentimental after we win, okay?” Izuki says sarcastically, trying to defuse the emotionally charged situation before it gets too heavy and they all start crying. “Save the speeches for later, Teppei.”

He receives a bright smile in return.

“I’ve said everything I need to out there, Shun. Now it’s you guys’ turn.”

Izuki mock-salutes and leads Seirin back out onto the court, ready for the fourth quarter. Before the game begins, Kuroko motions for them to form a quick circle and says hurriedly, “I agree with Murasakibara-kun that basketball is indeed unfair, but it also can’t be played alone. We have the most amazing team, and I want to win with all of you. I wouldn’t want to win with any other team, or as Kiyoshi-senpai put it, any other family. I know we can take this game!”

His little speech only serves to feed the fire in Seirin’s hearts even more and make it into a towering flame that will devour everything in its way.

* * *

As the match continues in the fourth quarter, Yōsen continues to maintain its lead, and with Kiyoshi out, Seirin is facing a tough time scoring at all. Sure, they get a dunk in at first, bringing it up to a five-point difference, but that’s only so much. Time is running out - the winner could win by twenty points or by one, but he remains the winner unless Seirin can find a way to take the lead.

The score is 42 - 47, to Yōsen. Seirin takes position for their own 2-3 zone, Kagami fielding the entirety of the inside. Izuki notices Kagami dropping his waist and focusing his eyes forcibly, and flinches at the earnest, almost desperate effort of his junior to protect the basket.

Though their new formation pressures Yōsen, their opponent is no normal team. Fukui easily bypasses Izuki and Mitobe with a high throw to Murasakibara, who catches it effortlessly. Kagami jumps to defend him, but Murasakibara dunks over his head with no difficulty.

42 - 49.

“Don’t be so conceited as to think you can defeat me alone!” he hisses as they land.

“If it comes to that, I will!” Kagami responds strongly. Any other person would take hope from his powerful words; however, Izuki can’t shake the feeling of wrongness about this whole situation. They’re doing _ something _ incorrectly, and he can’t narrow it down.

Next to break their formation is Himuro, sliding past Mitobe with unnatural ease, faking right and ducking back left. The fake is so perfect that Izuki sees an imprint of Himuro moving right, but he snaps himself out of it and stares after the opposing shooting guard, who is now marking Kagami.

“So you really do intend to defend the whole inside alone,” Himuro says to Kagami, hatred etched in his beautiful, terrible eyes. “That’s not courage, Kagami, that’s underestimation… here I come!”

He jumps for the shot. Kagami, however, stays put, intrepidly watching Himuro’s movements.

_ He’s figured it out somehow, _ Izuki realises, a wave of relief washing over him. _ Kagami figured out the trick of the Mirage Shot… _

Kagami jumps for the block a full second after Himuro is completely airborne. Then the ball leaves Himuro’s hands and enters the basket, passing well over Kagami’s block.

52 - 42. Yōsen has a ten-point lead once more.

“Did you think it was just some trick shot?” Himuro asks, barely winded as he touches ground. “I can change my release after seeing how my mark times his jump. Knowing how it works is useless; no one can touch the Mirage Shot.”

Kagami snarls but doesn’t respond. What _ does _ one say in the face of that vitriolic hatred?

* * *

Seirin manages to score a couple more points, but the weight of their offence has fallen almost completely on Kuroko, and the Phantom Shot isn’t a guaranteed basket. He’s missed more than once, and it’s not fair to expect him to keep scoring either; Kuroko is a defensive player, not an offensive one. Yōsen retaliates point for point, taking twos and threes like it’s a free-for-all.

58 - 49, in Yōsen’s favour with six minutes to go. The pressure starts to make itself known on Izuki’s back, but he takes a deep breath and convinces himself to calm down.

_ Just one of them would be exceptional… but they’ve got two. That Double Ace strategy is the fucking worst. _

Kagami finally gets the ball and jumps with an aggressive shout. His score is almost certain… but for Murasakibara, who easily knocks the ball from his hands and out of the court.

“Out of bounds! Black ball!”

A new figure, jarringly different but so familiar, stops the ball and picks it up with one hand. Kagami stares at him with a slightly open mouth.

“Kise?” he asks, voice low and rough. Kise smiles, but there’s no warmth in his smile.

“Hey, here’s your ball—” Then he interrupts himself, making a confused expression, and facepalms. “I’m sorry, I mistook you for someone I knew! Who are you?”

Kagami chokes. “What?”

Kise ignores him, turning to Murasakibara, who’s watching their debacle. “Hey, Murasakibaracchi! Guess we’ll be playing you tomorrow, huh?”

“Yes, Kise-chin. Actually, don’t talk to me. I’m in a game,” says Murasakibara, giving Kise his lazy glare.

Kasamatsu kicks him in the leg and shouts, “We’ve got today’s match to play, dumbass! Don’t get ahead of yourself!”

Kise whines a little but continues, turning back to Kagami, “I don’t know any idiots who rely on outside things while playing basketball. That someone I know was far scarier in our practice match.”

Kagami swallows as Kise returns the ball to him and struts off with the rest of his team, glancing down at his hands.

* * *

Kagami and Kuroko speak softly to each other as they run up the court for the offence. Izuki doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but he hopes it’s something that will get Kagami back to his regular self. They don’t need the Kagami who’s trying desperately for something; they need the Kagami who loses himself in the game.

Then Kagami claps his hands on his face, leaving two red imprints, and loudly declares, “For better or for worse, I just have to do all I can now!”

Izuki almost collapses with relief. Kuroko - and Kise, come to think of it - is to thank for the re-emergence of Kagami Taiga.

“You ready?” he asks Kagami, who smiles and nods.

“As I’ll ever be,” is the reply.

The game begins again at the same high pace as before, with Yōsen on offense. Liu makes his way towards the basket, breaking past Koganei easily and getting into position for a shot. Kagami, however, emerges in front of him with preternatural speed and goes for a block. It’s higher than he’s jumped this whole match.

Liu wears a shocked expression but manages to pass to Okamura nevertheless. The giant of a man blasts past Izuki easily and scores.

60 - 49, to Yōsen. Izuki looks to the bench, but Riko isn’t there - probably still with Kiyoshi in the medical office.

“Seirin High, time-out!”

* * *

“Right,” says Tsuchida to the panting Seirin players, who are wiping themselves down with towels and guzzling water, “I’ve got a message from the coach. Kuroko, Koganei, and Izuki, you guys are to triple-team Himuro. Kagami and Mitobe will take care of the inside. You’re to reduce Kagami’s defensive range to the paint.”

“Even if we are able to stop Himuro’s attacks,” asks Koganei, “won’t that leave us weak on the inside?”

“No,” Izuki says reflectively, “no, Coach is right. We aren’t a defensive team, we’re an offensive team. We just have to concentrate our efforts on what we do best.”

“Yeah, but—” Koga begins, but is cut off by Kagami, who nods.

“Got it. I couldn’t do what Murasakibara’s doing. Sorry,” he says with some disappointment, which disappears as he continues, “I’ll focus on the paint in any case,” determination shining in his eyes.

Then he heads back onto the court, leaving Izuki to ask Kuroko, “What’s gotten into him?”

Kuroko shrugs. “I don’t know, but I think it’s good. Kagami-kun seems like _him_ when he’s on fire.”

The identity of ‘him’ is obvious; Izuki knows if he looks up at the stands, he will see the one Kuroko is talking about. And if they’ve got Kagami in the same headspace as he was while playing ‘him’... it can be nothing but good.

* * *

Yōsen’s on offence once more; Okamura attacks powerfully, and Izuki lets him past into Kagami’s wider sphere of defence. Kagami’s jump forces Okamura’s shot, so much so that the ball bounces out of the basket. But Murasakibara quickly grabs the ball from mid-air and dunks it right back into the basket.

62 - 49.

Murasakibara gives Kagami an irritated stare once they land. Kagami takes no heed, running back up the court and getting himself ready for the next attack.

Izuki gets the ball and passes towards Koganei, thinking that if they can land a three, some of the pressure will be off. But surprise, surprise, Murasakibara catches the pass in mid-air and goes on offence.

Izuki bites his tongue to prevent a panicked outburst and starts chasing after Murasakibara, Seirin following his lead. Kagami is the only one to manage to draw level with Murasakibara, though.

Murasakibara jumps to dunk. Kagami’s almost a foot behind him, but he jumps too.

_ Kagami… _ Izuki prays quietly, gritting his teeth. _ We’re pinning our hopes on you now… on our ace… so please! _

Kagami does not disappoint, reaching Murasakibara’s height in a fraction of a second and pressing his hands against the ball. And, miraculously, _ he pushes it out of Murasakibara’s hands_. Izuki’s breath catches as he dares to hope for the one thing they’ve all been waiting on, and his hopes turn out to be right.

Kagami’s eyes trail crimson lightning as he steadies himself with all the grace of a wild tiger and gets ready to attack.

* * *

The paint near Seirin’s hoop has become an impenetrable area. No matter how hard even Murasakibara is trying, he’s unable to overcome the intense pressure that Kagami’s putting on them. Meanwhile, on offence, Kagami overpowers everything and everyone with his sheer will and the ability of the Zone, upping Seirin’s score to 55 - 62.

Himuro gets ready for the attack this time. Izuki watches carefully, activating the Eagle Eye to be able to stop him. Himuro, as usual, fakes past Kuroko and then Koganei with ease; Izuki is a little stunned by the perfection in those fakes, but he keeps himself anchored to the game and watches from above.

Himuro is as good as an ordinary man can get - but for all intents and purposes, he is still ordinary. And unfortunately for him, Izuki is ordinary, too.

He focuses his Eagle Eye and thanks Aida Kagetora with every fibre of his being for making him practise his reaction time so much. When he sees it, it’s almost laughably obvious.

Izuki blocks right, as opposed to Himuro’s leftward fake, and is pleased to feel leather against his hands as the ball comes into Seirin’s control. Himuro gasps and takes a step back, the mirage of his right fake finally disappearing to reveal that he ducked left.

Izuki grins and moves for the offence. Himuro is unable to keep up, Izuki being far faster than he is, and is left chasing in futility as Izuki passes to Kagami.

57 - 62, with four minutes to go.

Seirin might actually have a chance in hell of winning this match.

* * *

Yōsen scores again by virtue of Fukui, who lands a two when no one’s looking. Izuki curses himself for the careless mistake but gets on guard again, determined not to let it affect him.

Himuro attacks this time, Izuki letting him past to allow Kagami to deal with him. He segues into his form for the Mirage Shot.

Kagami jumps. Himuro lets the ball fall back into his hands and waits for Kagami to drop. It’s a surprise, then, when _ he _ starts to lose height before Kagami does.

With a panicked look, Himuro shoots. Kagami swipes the shot out of the air.

Himuro falls to the ground, winded. Kagami’s barely out of breath.

“How—?” he asks. Kagami doesn’t answer, going to Seirin’s offence again.

Murasakibara’s on attack once more, his usual brute force overwhelming everyone but Kagami. He leaps, winds swirling around him as his hands move towards the basket.

Thor’s Hammer. Izuki resigns himself to Yōsen scoring once more—

But wait… is that _ Kagami _who just flicked the ball to the ground?!

Murasakibara lands, and the entire court trembles from the power of his fury. Kagami simply brushes hair out of his eyes and continues with the game.

_ Kagami just stopped the Thor’s Hammer, _ Izuki thinks with incredulity as he passes to Koganei, who scores easily, evening the points to 60 - 64 with three minutes left on the clock. _ How even—?! _

“Yōsen High, time-out!”

* * *

“Now I know we’ve caught up somewhat, but the game isn’t over yet. We haven’t won yet,” Riko, now back from the medical office, tells her team urgently. Kiyoshi, who’s also back, nods along with the other boys. “We have to keep going at the same pace we’ve been all this time. I can’t think of anything else to say, but to _ win_. Seirin, fight for this victory like you’ve fought for every other win!”

“Yes, Coach!” Seirin choruses. Izuki steals a glance at Yōsen’s bench and raises his eyebrows when he sees Himuro sock Murasakibara solidly in the jaw.

_ Well. That’s… interesting. _

He then turns his attention back to the rest of his team, who are looking eagerly at him for God only knows what.

“You know…” Furihata prompts, “pep talk? Inspiring words?”

Izuki tilts his head. “Didn’t Coach just—”

“Yes, but it has to come from you too,” Furihata explains patiently. “So that we know you believe it too.”

Izuki groans and rubs his forehead. “You lot… I swear, you’re such a piece of work.” Then he raises his face and continues, “But you’re a piece of work I more than enjoy doing. You are the best team I could have ever asked for, one that has supported me and pushed me to achieve everything I’ve ever wanted. I refuse to win with any other team - so let’s go do this, Seirin!”

His team, surprisingly, looks mortified.

“What?” Izuki asks irritably, wiping his face and drinking some water.

“D… doing,” Kuroko mutters quietly. “A piece of work you enjoy… _ doing _…”

Izuki stares at his underclassman for a full second before he finally gets it, and smacks his forehead. “_God_!”

Riko laughs at his expense before gesturing to the court. “Time-out’s almost over. Let’s get back out there and show Yōsen what we’re made of!”

“Yes!” Seirin agrees loudly, and Izuki leads his team back onto the court, ready for whatever Yōsen might throw their way.

* * *

Murasakibara’s scraped his hair back into a ponytail. Izuki isn’t sure whether that’s good or bad, but he’s learned from the anime he watched as a kid that when a lazy character bothers to take their hair out of their eyes, shit is about to go down.

So he waits and watches for what’s about to happen. One can’t let their guard down as Riko said; the match hasn’t been won yet.

It’s Yōsen’s possession, and Okamura puts up a screen for Himuro, who easily passes Kuroko with one of his perfect fakes. He sets up for a Mirage Shot, which Kagami - still in the Zone - is already blocking. But that isn’t Himuro’s plan - he instead passes to Murasakibara, who quickly turns and moves to dunk. Kagami catches up, going for a block despite the fact that he’s about three metres away from the giant.

But, again, that isn’t the plan.

Instead, the ball is passed to Himuro, who rises gracefully and shoots. Kagami’s too late to stop the three-pointer, resulting in 60 - 67 to Yōsen.

Izuki bites his lip and opens his mouth to cheer his team up, but before he can say anything, Kagami taps him on the shoulder.

“Izuki-senpai, do you have a minute?”

“What?” Izuki asks.

Kagami hurriedly outlines the details of his plan. Izuki listens carefully, noting every word.

“If you think you can pull this off, then don’t waste time,” he says, clapping Kagami on the back. “Go for it.”

* * *

The next formation Seirin takes gives Yōsen more than a little bit of a shock. Izuki watches Kiyoshi hold back a snigger and swallows a snort of his own when Fukui exclaims in a harrowed tone, “_You’re _ the point guard now?!”

Indeed, Kagami has assumed the point guard’s position in front of Fukui, eyes trailing red lightning.

He twirls around Fukui, passing him with ease, and goes into a shooting position. Murasakibara readies himself for a block, but Kagami’s faster. He passes to Kuroko, who redirects the pass straight to the basket like his Phantom Shot technique. The trajectory is close, but not quite long enough.

_ It isn’t going to make it— _Izuki thinks with panic.

That panic is quickly alleviated with Kagami’s next move. Because the pass-shot isn’t a shot. It’s an alley-oop, which Kagami dunks with almost inhuman speed. 62 - 67, Seirin’s score, with one and a half minutes to go.

The next play is even sweeter. Kagami dribbles past the defence, allowing Izuki to penetrate and go for a shot. Murasakibara looms overhead for a block.

_ That’s why I’ve got Eagle Eye, you dolt, _ Izuki thinks vindictively, activating the Eye and taking the only possible course - upwards, to the right of Murasakibara’s outstretched blocking arm.

Kagami grabs the ball and slams it straight into the basket, drawing Seirin up to a three-point difference at 64 - 67, and the fire in Izuki’s chest burns brighter.

_ We will win. _

* * *

Kagami makes another few points in quick succession. However, this time Murasakibara matches him basket for basket, leaving Seirin with the same four-point deficit at 68 - 72.

One minute left on the clock. Urgency pounds at Izuki’s chest, and his breath catches.

_ We aren’t losing. We can’t lose. Please… _

The ball thuds out of bounds, slapped from Murasakibara’s hands by Kagami.

“White ball!” calls the ref. And then, “Black, member change!”

Izuki looks towards the bench with equal parts disbelief and joy. Kiyoshi is standing there, exuberant smile plastered to his face, arms spread wide as he asks, “Why are you all so gloomy? Come on, let’s go have some fun!”

“Welcome back,” Kuroko says, lip trembling. Kiyoshi nods happily.

“I’m back,” he says meaningfully, then turns to the rest, stance one of readiness and strength.

“Teppei, you know what to do,” Izuki says, getting into business mode.

Kiyoshi nods. “Of course. We’re in a pinch, right? But the game isn’t over yet.”

_ No. It isn’t. _

And with that, Seirin moves to their places on the court, ready for anything. Under fifty seconds to go, and all they have to do is continually score, as well as stop Yōsen’s offence while at it. Piece of cake, right?

Then again, they’ve faced worse.

* * *

It’s Yōsen’s offence, and normally, even the cool-headed Izuki would start to feel a trickle of panic. But with Kiyoshi there, everything seems possible.

Murasakibara attacks, going for a similar move as he had before - pretending to shoot, then passing to Himuro. Kagami, having blocked Murasakibara, is indisposed to take on Himuro as well: but they haven’t counted on Izuki and Kiyoshi’s coordination. The captain and vice-captain lock eyes as Murasakibara passes, Izuki conveying all that needs to be known, and then Kiyoshi blocks Himuro’s path.

“Sorry,” Himuro snarls, recovering from the shock of Kiyoshi’s sudden appearance, “but only Kagami can stop my Mirage Shot.”

He jumps. Kiyoshi doesn’t say anything - Izuki knows that his answer will be in his reaction.

Himuro moves to shoot. It’s then that Kiyoshi jumps for the block.

Or… _ does _ he?

It’s a fake on par with Himuro’s, one he and Izuki had practised over and over in the days leading up to the match, to the point that it almost fools Izuki’s own Eye. But Himuro isn’t tricked; he sees through the fake easily and releases the first time. There’s hubris in his eyes, clear as day, as the shot flies straight out of his hands - and stops in mid-air against Koganei’s raised palms.

Really, Izuki thinks, Himuro shouldn’t be so surprised to see Koganei knocking the ball out of the air. But he doesn’t waste any more time thinking about it; he just zips over, taking the ball from the ground and running for a fast break. Distantly he hears Yōsen’s coach shouting to her players to stop Seirin from scoring, but he ignores it. That’s inconsequential right now.

What really counts, what only counts, is that basket.

He passes to Kagami, who takes a high three. The ball soars towards the basket Midorima-style… and bounces off the rim.

“Rebound!” Izuki cries with all he has.

Kiyoshi does not disappoint, grabbing the ball out of the air with Vice Claw. He passes to Koganei, who’s on the outside.

Koganei applies his new form for the first time today and shoots. The ball lands in the basket, and the crowd goes up in whispers.

“Ray Allen’s form?”

“Isn’t he in high school? How can he do that?”

“That Seirin! I tell you, they’re insane!”

71 - 72, with twenty-one seconds to go. Koganei almost cries with joy, unable to believe himself.

Izuki grins as he feels the eagle’s claws finally start to clamp down on its prey.

Yōsen’s offence once more, and Okamura has the ball. Breaking free from Kuroko with enormous effort, he lets out a war cry as he sends a long pass in Himuro’s direction. Koganei is once more tricked by that realistic fake, Himuro dashing to the basket and setting up a shot.

Kagami’s presence doesn’t deter Himuro, who, instead of shooting, makes a pass to Murasakibara. The dunk is almost certain, when Kagami’s hand stops the ball’s assured path into the basket.

“That monster,” Izuki hears Liu gasp.

Kagami and Murasakibara strain against each other, as is usual. Izuki prays for Kagami to win… but Murasakibara is _ glowing_. Purple lightning trails from his eyes, a steady flow unlike Kagami’s sputtering last legs of the Zone.

_ You, too? Now?! _Izuki can’t help but curse Murasakibara’s timing.

Murasakibara pushes Kagami backwards, the ball drawing closer and closer to the basket. It seems almost hopeless—

But for Kiyoshi, whose steady hands come to rest against the ball with Kagami’s and begin to exert a strength of their own.

“Don’t give up!” Kiyoshi grits out, pushing every last ounce of energy into keeping Murasakibara back. Kagami nods, overwhelmed, and pushes too. And, miraculously, their combined force overcomes Murasakibara’s raw power.

Koganei grabs the ball and yells out, “Let’s go, guys!” as he streaks up the court. Izuki follows, but slows in his pursuit as he sees Murasakibara in front of him.

_ How is he there already?! _

But Kagami’s no less, meeting Murasakibara with equal energy. The Zone is dimming from his eyes second by second, but his focus remains untarnished as he grabs Izuki’s pass powerfully and readies himself to shoot.

“It’s the ace’s job to carry everyone’s hopes and dreams to victory,” he growls, forcing a path forwards and pushing Murasakibara back. “So… I’ll exceed my limits however many times it takes!”

And he jumps, ball raised high above his head.

_ A lane-up? But no… he doesn’t have enough space to jump from that angle… _

Murasakibara blocks, his huge body like a wall in front of the hoop. Kagami’s insane, powerful dunk smashes through that wall and into the basket.

The falling star dunk - ** _Meteor Jam._ **

The score climbs to 73 - 72, _ finally _ in Seirin’s favour. Izuki’s about to cry with joy, but he can’t celebrate so fast.

_ The game isn’t over yet! _ a voice screeches in his head. He dives for the ball, allowing his instincts to guide him—

And is too late, for Himuro swipes it up and tosses it to Murasakibara, crying desperately, “Atsushi!”

Izuki gives chase, the fear making wings grow on his legs. Murasakibara moves into form a split second before Izuki gets to him, bending his legs to jump.

Nothing happens.

Izuki’s taken aback for a millisecond before he continues his mad dash towards Murasakibara, letting out a war cry as the center makes to simply toss the ball into the hoop.

“It wasn’t their intention,” says a quiet but familiar voice. “But, this is the result of Kiyoshi-senpai and the other upperclassmen’s tenacity.”

Izuki grins, feeling new strength fill him up.

_ Together, huh? Okay. Together. _

“This is where it ends for you!” shouts the voice, becoming stronger.

Not one, but _ two _ hands knock the ball out of Murasakibara’s hands and onto the ground. Kuroko shimmers into vision, smiling at Izuki with all the happiness in the world, just as the final buzzer rings.

“73 - 72, _ Seirin High wins_!” shouts the referee.

Izuki’s body weakens, and he collapses onto his knees, burying his face in his hands to hide the wetness in his eyes.

* * *

The aftermath of the match passes with overwhelming clarity. Shaking hands with Okamura, Fukui grasping him in a bro-hug and exchanging numbers with the promise of texting each other plenty of memes, Himuro jokingly adding his own two cents with a, “One does not simply leave another memelord out of this,” and scrawling his number down… it all flies by, and yet Izuki could tell you at what millisecond his chest rose and fell with breath. He smiles proudly and hurries to catch up with the team that’s half left him behind in their excited rush.

Seirin has scored an interview with Basketball Monthly for their crazy win. Izuki can’t believe his own eyes when the reporters arrive; it’s still all so _ unbelievable_, defeating three out of five of the Generation of Miracles, being in the semifinals of the _ Winter Cup_…

But _ God_, this feeling is better than any he’s felt. For the first time in years, Izuki doesn’t think of the people around him as better than him; he’s seeing himself on the same level as them, able to play on an equal field. There’s pride and joy in not just the team, but in _ himself _ \- he is proud of how far he’s come, how hard he works, and how well he’s performing.

He knows well enough not to let it bleed into arrogance, but he’ll let himself have this pride.

The interviewers are, as expected, very eager to speak to Kagami first. Izuki doesn’t begrudge him; in fact, he is one of the first to push the stammering, blushing ace towards the reporters and give him an encouraging wink. Kagami’s well-meaning bluster and endearing love for basketball makes him impossible to hate or be jealous of; Izuki can only wonder how Himuro did it.

Next is, of course, Kiyoshi, who’s swarmed by interviewers eager to hear his story of falling and rising twice as powerful. Izuki’s happy for his friend, but there’s also some wicked amusement at Kiyoshi’s ineptitude while dealing with these people. He stutters and struggles his way through his answers, but they seem to find it all the more adorable, the female reporter ending his feature with the line, “Don’t let his epithet fool you - the Iron Heart has a soul made of the sweetest candy.”

That makes Kiyoshi go pinker than before.

Koganei is praised to the high heavens as well, the reporters asking a dozen questions all at once, about his form, about his basketball style, about how he mastered it despite being so clearly inexperienced. Koga answers all of them happily, basking in the attention - though he remains down to earth throughout. Izuki’s a little surprised, seeing as Koganei is the type to get his ego inflated easily, but he’ll take what he gets.

Kuroko’s interview is along the same lines. The reporters are eating his whole shadow thing out of the palm of his hand, and he’s clearly enjoying the recognition, while still remaining his usual grounded self. He ends his speech with the words, “Seirin isn’t just a team. It’s a family, a second family that I love just as much as my real one.”

That’s got everyone in a tizzy, as expected. Such sweet words, especially in the harsh world of boys’ high school basketball, are few and far between; and when found, they are much appreciated.

Finally, it’s Izuki’s turn. He breathes in, putting on his ‘Captain’ mask and smiling - just the right amount, not too wide and happy like Kiyoshi, not too stilted and small like Kagami. Warm, but also with a touch of cold slyness.

“Izuki Shun! The normal guy who’s taken the court by storm!” exclaims the female interviewer, leaning in a little too close for Izuki’s liking.

He doesn’t lean back, though; it’s a sign of weakness he can’t afford to show. Instead, he just smiles and says, “I don’t know about that. Couldn’t have done half of it without my team.”

“Ah, a real stalwart, aren’t you?” says the male. “You’re the foundation of your team! I’d say _ they _couldn’t have done it without you!”

Izuki stiffens slightly but keeps his facade up. “No, nothing like that. I just do what needs to be done,” he says.

“Yes, and you do it beautifully,” presses the woman. “Everyone’s calling you ‘the sixth Uncrowned King’, you know. Your technique is fantastic, and you play the court like it’s your personal piano. You beat Hanamiya Makoto in a one-on-one duel. So isn’t your humility a little excessive?”

Izuki smiles tightly, a little floored by the revelation of his apparent new nickname.

“I - not exactly. I’ve always had to work very hard for even a single ounce of skill - I’m not a naturally talented player like a lot of my friends. But I love basketball, and that’s what matters the most to me. I’ll play against any opponent and draw out my limits as far as I need to if it means that I can win with this team - or rather, this _family_, as Kuroko so rightly said. I think it’s just a matter of determination, and people have always said I’m too determined for my own good,” he deflects quickly. He doesn’t want to talk about being ‘talented’ or ‘special’ - Izuki Shun isn’t that kind of guy. He’s the normal guy, the one you ignore until he’s disarmed you when you weren’t looking.

Izuki’s _ happy _ being that kind of guy. That’s his whole selling point, for God’s sake.

“I’ll have to disagree,” says the man. “I’d say you’re a late bloomer. I mean, that shot against Tōō? You bypassed three defenders - not one, not two, but _ three _ \- and practically saved your team’s behinds!”

Izuki rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “I… really, it’s only because I was able to stay calm,” he insists. “That’s kind of my thing.”

“Oh?” asks the woman. “Your cool-headedness on the court is another point I’ve been wanting to talk about. What do you think it brings to the team?”

Finally, a question he can answer without fear of being perceived as arrogant. Izuki smiles and responds, “Well, I think I’m able to bring an element of calmness to our play style. Being a point guard and captain means that I have to make a lot of decisions, and for that, I have to stay cool and leave the firing up to everyone else. I think that being a calm influence on my team can matter a lot, not just to make good decisions during heated gameplay but also to lift up team morale when we’re down a few points, as I don’t get affected by it very much.”

The reporters nod and smile. They ask a few more pointless questions, but the woman seems to be dying to get to something.

“Your Eagle Eye,” she says hurriedly. “Can you tell us about it?”

_ Annoying, _ Izuki thinks to himself, wincing inwardly, but complies with a smile. “Of course. I can’t divulge how exactly it works, for certain reasons, but I can definitely tell you that a lot of Uruguayans have it.”

“Uruguay?” asks the man in confusion.

Izuki nods, a devious smirk on his face. “Eagle Eye, Uruguay. Eagle Eye, Urugu Eye. Eagle Eye, Ugle Eye.”

The reporters look bamboozled. Izuki laughs out loud, and Riko says loudly, “Please ignore our idiot captain and his horrible puns!”

“But Riko,” Kiyoshi whispers worriedly, “if Izuki says many Uruguayans have the Eagle Eye, shouldn’t we just believe that?”

Riko smacks him. “Shut up.”

(The first thing Izuki does when he gets home is google “Eagle Eye Uruguay”. Surprisingly, he happens to be right - a certain protein that’s common in the country causes many people to have it. There’s also a funny interview with a boy who looks suspiciously like him, repeating his exact same pun. Izuki debates whether to punch this guy for copying him or to congratulate him for having the same galaxy brain.)

“My only regret,” he sighs later, “is that I didn’t get to make my best pun today.”

Kiyoshi looks very interested. “Oh? What pun?”

“The game against Yōsen wasn’t _your_ _zen_,” Izuki says with a completely straight face.

Riko whacks him gently but laughs along with Kiyoshi. Soon they file out of the gymnasium, leaving Kuroko and Kagami behind as they confer quietly. Izuki would normally call out for the two, but he lets them be. They’ll sort their own problems out.

This time, Kagami and Himuro have made some nonsense pact that they’ll stop being brothers after the result of the match. It’s bullshit in Izuki’s opinion, and apparently in Kuroko’s too, for it’s all too clear that the small boy is steaming with rage. Izuki wonders if he should be worried, but looking over his shoulder at Kuroko arguing with Kagami, that doubt is dispelled.

They’ll find a way to figure things out. They always do.

And indeed, as Kagami bounds off urgently, there’s a smile as bright as the sun on Kuroko’s face.

* * *

In the short interlude before the Kaijō - Fukuda Sōgō game, the first thing Izuki does is to call his mother. A piercing squeal enters his ear, and he winces at the shrill sound but can’t help a small smile at Mai’s voice screeching, “Nii-chan, you were so _ awesome_!”

“Did you skip school to watch the game?” Izuki asks half-jokingly, half-threateningly.

Mai laughs before saying, “How can I _ skip _at school when I didn’t even go there?”

It’s a pun that’s not even a pun. Still, Izuki lets it slide with a fond smile.

Aya’s familiar voice bleeds through the tinny speakers, saying, “Mai, let him be! Shun’s probably so tired after that game, and you know he can never _ Shun _ you.”

“Aneki, don’t tell me,” Izuki begins with a tired sigh. “You skipped college for this?”

“And I skipped work,” says his mother’s deep but kindly tone. “Shun, you were very good out there. I’d say it’s a definite Sei-_win _ for you.”

Izuki laughs at the pun, ignoring the incredulous shout of, “His _ entire family _is like this?!” from Furihata.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“When you passed the Eagle Wall, I knew that you would do very _ wall_,” his mother teases. “But really, Shun,” and her voice warms to something serious, “I’m very proud of you. You’ve overcome so much, come so far. Well done.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Izuki whispers, feeling her voice and words envelop him like a soft blanket, and smiles when he cuts the call.

Kagami returns with his necklace newly around his neck and a small scuff on his face. Izuki asks what happened, but Kagami just shakes his head and brushes it off. Kuroko quietly tells him that Kagami had an altercation with Haizaki; that Haizaki assaulted Alex, Himuro and Kagami both trying and failing to defend her; and that Kise stopped the Fukuda Sōgō player. Izuki isn’t sure whether to seethe with rage at the thought of attacking a woman like that or to sigh with relief that Kagami hadn’t tangled too much with him.

He decides on the latter, seeing the look of contentment in Kagami’s eyes at wearing his necklace again, and settles in to watch the game, more than ready for what it’ll bring.

* * *

Izuki was _ not _ ready for this game - if it can even be called a game. Because see, the ace of Fukuda Sōgō? He’s a monster. There’s no other word for it.

Seirin watches as he steals Kasamatsu’s drive, as he steals Moriyama’s shot, as he takes and takes and takes without thinking of anything but himself. It sickens Izuki more than he can say, and righteous anger on Kaijō’s part fills him - even more so now that they and Seirin are almost like old friends. Still, he doesn’t act on it; doesn’t even get up to scream with outrage, as Kagami does when Haizaki purposely injures Kise’s foot.

The only time he comes close to showing any real emotion is when Kaijō starts to look… _ defeated_. Even Kise, the bubbly and bright light of the Miracles; even Kasamatsu, the steady beacon guiding his team.

Then Kuroko himself stands up and yells, “Kise-kun! Don’t give up! I believe in you!”

That’s when it all breaks. The crowds - Seirin included - start cheering wildly for Kaijō. And miraculously… the beaten-down, broken-up and shattered team rises again, sudden and fierce like the fire that’s fuelling them now. They sear straight through Fukuda Sōgō’s defence, setting ablaze the court with their comeback to win the game 75 - 72.

Izuki can’t help the pride that wells up in him as he hugs Kasamatsu tightly after the match, saying, “Yukio-senpai, you were _ awesome_. I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

Despite the fact that Perfect Copy is potentially the most dangerous thing that can happen to Seirin, Izuki doesn’t care. Kaijō are their friends, their rivals, their equals, and if Seirin will accept defeat any time this Winter Cup, it will be only to this team.

Not that he plans to lose, of course. Not in the least.

Izuki smiles to himself as he walks out with Seirin, already planning his newest strategy. Eagle Spear should work nicely tomorrow.

* * *

“Fucking Seirin,” the bespectacled boy mutters to himself as he hurries out of the stadium. “They’re really going to kill me someday. Almost had a bloody heart attack in there.”

He swears to God his heart stopped when it was the last few seconds and Murasakibara went into the Zone. Kagami’s Meteor Jam froze his chest in an entirely different way.

He’d skimped on his homework, but it had been worth it to come and watch Seirin’s match. He’ll have to rush through it later tonight - there will be no time to sleep, but he is used to that, used to following Seirin’s basketball so closely that everything else drops to the side of the road.

His eyes wander for a minute, and he pauses his mad dash to linger on the team in white and red, who are cheering raucously a few feet away from the exit. Kagami is notably absent, and Kiyoshi is clinging onto Izuki like a limpet, half for support and the other half from comfortable familiarity.

More than anything, he longs to be with them. Maybe in another world, it might’ve been him laughing with them, arm slung around the captain’s shoulders as they cackled over some nonsense joke and celebrated their insane win. Maybe in another world, he might’ve been the one to score those threes and perfect that form. But that is another world, a world that is not the one he lives in, and so this is the way things are.

Watching them play, though - that brings him happiness enough. It ignites a fire in his heart that he’d thought long dead.

With a small smile, he banishes the thoughts of what could have been from his head and starts running at top speed, intent on catching the metro train back to Nakano before it leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments make a blob happy~


	9. catch the updraft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 29.08.20:  
Guess which idiot fucking FORGOT to post yesterday. I've been so drowned by schoolwork, it just slipped my mind *sobs* sowwwiieeeee!! On a more positive note, though, this chapter contains the first part of the Kaijō-Seirin match - I found it rather electrifying to write :P  
I can't believe we are nearing the end of this story. I know, I know, we are only on Chapter Nine, but these are the quarterfinals... Rakuzan's almost here and I can't wait for you guys to see it!! :D  
chapter song: [Fly High](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UsqQ1Wwd0Xc) by BURNOUT SYNDROMES. yes hahahaha it's a haikyuu song!! i just love how this openly talks about wings and uses those metaphors so i figured why the hell not lmao. the linked song is 8d audio (it sounds as if it's flowing in a circle around you) so be careful! it's a bit weird at first but fun to listen to~  
Thank you guys so much for your lovely comments and support! I so appreciate it, and I am over the moon that you're enjoying my little story <3

Izuki is walking home, utterly exhausted, when his phone rings. With an irritated groan, he pulls it out only to raise an eyebrow at the caller ID.

** _Himuro Tatsuya_** _ **.** _

“Hello?” Izuki says softly, lifting the phone to his ear.

“Is this Izuki-san?” asks a smooth voice that belongs no doubt to Himuro.

“Yeah. Himuro-san, right?” Izuki inquires in return, keeping his tone light and cool.

“Yes. Ah, Izuki-san, I wanted to talk about our little… chat on the court.” Himuro’s voice deepens to something unusually serious.

Izuki tenses. _ Oh, shit… I wasn’t even thinking when I said that stuff… _

“Ah, yeah…” he says instead, his voice the epitome of calmness.

There’s a whoosh of outwards breath from Himuro’s side. Then, “You were right.”

Izuki freezes. “I was?” he asks as passively as he can, considering that this statement has him… a little more than surprised.

“Yes; I was bitter, angry, and all torn up about my lack of natural skill.” There’s a sad smile in Himuro’s voice as he speaks, low and rough and full of melancholy. “I… I hated it. No matter how hard I worked…”

Izuki completes the sentence. “It was never enough.”

“Exactly.” He can almost see the tears that must be collecting in Himuro’s eyes right now. Izuki wants to feel sorry for him, but he can’t, knowing that it’s entirely possible to make a different choice from the one Himuro had made. Knowing that it’s entirely possible to _ choose _ not to be bitter, rather than to wallow in it and grow so angry.

“I… I was so caught up in it all,” Himuro goes on, returning to his usual steady tone. “Your words were like arrows that pierced the veil clouding my eyes from reality.”

Dramatic much? Izuki nearly rolls his eyes but stops himself in time.

“So… thank you, I wanted to say. I can’t put it into words, the kind of dark place I’ve lived in regarding basketball. You helped me open my eyes… you and Taiga, I can never thank you enough.” Himuro starts to choke up at the end.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Izuki says with a slight amount of panic; he is _ not _ good at dealing with criers. “See, it’s all about the choices you make. I’m glad I could help you make the right one.”

Himuro breathes out, and his voice is steady when he speaks again. “Thank you. And… one more thing.”

“Yeah?” Izuki asks, a little apprehensive.

“What did you mean when you said you almost became me?”

_ I shouldn’t have opened my mouth—! _

“Ah,” he says with a strained laugh. “That’s a very long story. Some other time? I have a match soon...”

“Of course. I’ll speak to you later, then,” Himuro says affably. “Thank you once again.”

And he hangs up, leaving Izuki to stare down at his phone and wonder what kind of mess he’s gotten himself into.

Even Seirin - including Kiyoshi - doesn’t know about this. Even _ Hyūga _ didn’t know about the slump Izuki went through in third grade. And now he just _ lets it slip _to some random stranger?! Since when did he go around relating his life story to others?

Izuki calms his unsettled mind with a deep breath, telling himself it’ll all be forgotten tomorrow. Himuro has better things to do than chase down the sob story of an average basketball player, and Izuki has to focus on the match with Kaijō the day after tomorrow.

New adrenaline fuels his legs as he starts to run home, ready to watch some of Kaijō’s games and plan some new strategies to take them down.

* * *

The day of the semis dawns almost too quickly upon Seirin. Izuki feels more than ready - to him, and to the rest, Kaijō isn’t a new rival or enemy to face. It’s more like they’re playing against old friends.

First, however, comes the match Seirin has been waiting for - Shūtoku versus Rakuzan. Of course, Izuki has watched Rakuzan’s videos, but he’s never actually seen them play live before. This will be an experience, he thinks as he settles down to watch.

It’s more than just ‘an experience’, he is soon to realise, as he watches Rakuzan’s starting line-up step onto the court.

Mayuzumi Chihiro is first, a name Izuki doesn’t recognise. Then Mibuchi Reo, Hayama Kotarō, and Nebuya Eikichi - not one, not two, but _ three _ Uncrowned Kings. And finally, the “emperor”, Mr. Stick-up-my-Ass himself, Akashi Seijūrō. Captain of the Generation of Miracles.

Izuki wants to feel angry at Akashi, but he can’t help being wowed by the rest of the line-up. It certainly hadn’t been the same in the Inter-High, and he has to wonder: have they been hiding their hand all this time, simply waiting to unleash these four aces of theirs on the rest of high school basketball?

He and the rest of Seirin cheer loudly for Shūtoku when they enter the court. Izuki flashes a big smile at Takao, who looks a little green but stays calm as he goes to mark Akashi. Kagami hollers an encouraging shout at Midorima, who simply nods in acknowledgement and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Izuki watches quietly, an uneasy feeling in his stomach as Midorima goes to speak to Akashi. The short redhead is wearing the number 4, to his surprise; don’t they usually give captaincy to senior players?

A few words are exchanged between the two before Midorima’s chin dips ever so slightly and he walks off, the usual proud cast to his posture twice as rigid as normal. Izuki doesn’t think that’s a good thing, but he sincerely hopes that Shūtoku defeats Rakuzan. If - _ when_, he corrects himself - Seirin goes to the finals, there’s nothing Izuki would like more than to ground that brat properly, but for now, he would rather see Shūtoku proceed to the final. They deserve it, and Akashi deserves a thrashing from Midorima - apparently, he had been the closest to the captain in their middle-school days and the most affected by Akashi’s change.

Shūtoku wins the tip-off; Izuki is glad to see Ōtsubo triumphing over Nebuya. Takao gets the ball, then quickly fakes a drive and passes to Midorima.

For all Rakuzan’s talk, they don’t have a Kagami, even if Nebuya’s pretty strong. No one can stop that perfect three that slides into the basket without even touching the rim.

3 - 0, Shūtoku.

Of course, Rakuzan retaliates quickly. A two here, a three there, mostly scored by Mibuchi or Hayama. Akashi does nothing but orchestrate the proceedings, as any point guard would do. Granted, he’s a very good point guard with fine technique and good decision-making skills, but Izuki is unimpressed - where are those legendary powers that the rest of his ‘Generation of Miracles’ possess?

Midorima continues to shoot as usual, refraining from taking any mid- or full-court shots. Rakuzan matches him point for point, and soon the score is 16 - 14 in Shūtoku’s favour.

Akashi attacks on Rakuzan’s side with a little less than a minute to go in the first quarter. Takao marks him, and Izuki fully expects the Hawk Eye possessor to be helpless; but Takao is somehow miraculously able to contain Akashi enough to stop the drive. Akashi, however, is quick enough to change it into a pass to Nebuya, who dunks quickly and scores. The whistle blows for the first quarter with 16-all.

* * *

The second quarter begins with a double-team on Midorima. Takao cleverly changes his pass towards Miyaji at the last second, and Miyaji goes up against the snaggle-toothed Hayama.

He bypasses Hayama with ease, making a quick crossover that anyone would be hard-pressed to react to in time, and when Nebuya comes up to guard him, Miyaji passes quickly to Ōtsubo, who scores easily.

Hayama seems to be getting berated by his teammates - presumably for ‘taking it easy’ - and grins before getting back into position. This time, it’s Rakuzan’s attack, and he receives the ball with a comfortable ease that almost frightens Izuki.

Then Hayama starts to dribble. And if Izuki’s eyes can be believed, there’s _ light _trailing from each bounce of the ball.

“So that’s why they call it the Lightning Dribble,” Kiyoshi murmurs in awe as Hayama dribbles again and again. Izuki squints, trying to get a better look at Hayama’s technique, when he spots something insane.

“Three fingers,” he says faintly. “He can put that much power into dribbling with just _ three fingers_?!”

Indeed, Hayama sails past Miyaji with unnatural ease, heading straight for the basket, where he encounters Kimura. Hayama is unfazed, easily scoring for Rakuzan with a double clutch.

Izuki sits on the edge of his seat, gripping the railings with white knuckles. These Uncrowned Kings… he _ swears to God_, they’re insane.

Rakuzan attacks once more, spearheaded by Hayama, who scores again. They pull ahead for the first time in the match, and it looks like Shūtoku is starting to lose their grip. The usually calm Takao is looking around with a frenzied fever, the heavy rise and fall of his chest evident to even Izuki, who’s seated about fifty feet above him.

“Come on,” Izuki mutters under his breath, staring hard at Takao and trying to pass the message to him by the force of his willpower. “Don’t get overheated. A lead isn’t something indestructible. You lose the mental battle now, it’s as good as losing the match. Just stay afloat. Come on!”

Takao doesn’t seem to hear Izuki’s words, continuing to look around like a spooked rabbit. His eyes are wild with fear, and though the Hawk Eye is active, it’s pretty much redundant when he’s in this state.

Akashi is quick to take his chance, stealing the ball before Takao can react. Izuki raises an eyebrow, a little impressed despite himself. Even he, with his reaction time that’s faster than most players in the circuit, wouldn’t have been so fast to take the opportunity.

Akashi streaks ahead, passing to Hayama, who receives it and goes for a counter, slipping past Miyaji again. He goes for another layup…

And is unexpectedly blocked by Midorima, who lets out a fierce shout worthy of Kagami as he grabs the ball. The second that his long legs hit the ground - faster than Hayama because of his greater height and weight - he wastes no time in running up the court to Rakuzan’s hoop, using Kimura’s well-made screen to pass the double-team that’s still on him.

Midorima jumps to take a shot. Nebuya is already going for a block, and by the looks of Midorima’s angle, it seems like the block will succeed.

_ Will he change his angle? Will he shoot the same way? Does he have some trick shot? _ are the questions running through the minds of everyone watching. But Izuki’s breath catches in his chest as he watches Midorima and realises that they are _ all _ wrong.

Midorima is not going to do any of those, no. Instead, he will pass.

And he does. The ball goes to Miyaji, who runs for a fast break and dunks before Rakuzan’s bigger and stronger players can stop him.

The crowd goes wild, hooting for Midorima and Shūtoku. Seirin isn’t one among them, but they do clap with wide smiles. It seems like the entire crowd save Rakuzan’s school cheer squad is rooting for Shūtoku.

Good. That will only decrease team morale for the so-called “Emperors”.

The ball is back in play, and it goes to Midorima, who is almost at the half-court line. He shoots the same perfect long-range three that had stumped Seirin the first time they’d played Shūtoku. The shot, as usual, drops into the basket without even grazing the rim, bringing the score to 39-all as the whistle blows for halftime.

* * *

The second half commences with Shūtoku's possession. Midorima receives the ball and faces his mark, Akashi. It’s a very important play, seeing as the flow of the game will most definitely go to the winner. Midorima is quick to post Akashi up, and then he suddenly goes for the shot, using his advantage in height.

But the ball is no longer in his hands. Instead, Akashi - who has somehow stolen the ball - goes for a fast break. Izuki almost shouts out loud, shocked by the insanely clever prediction.

“Emperor Eye,” Kuroko says softly from next to him. “The Eye that sees into the future.”

“What?” Izuki hisses. “What do you mean, see into the future?”

Kuroko nods. “Akashi-kun can see what you’re going to do before you do it, thus stopping your move.”

Izuki raises his eyebrows. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

Kuroko laughs mirthlessly. “A lot of things shouldn’t be possible, senpai,” he says. “But they are.”

They turn their attention back to the game to see that Takao has caught up with Akashi. But he is no match for the Emperor Eye, collapsing as Akashi performs the finest ankle break Izuki’s ever seen.

_ I underestimated this guy… _

Akashi backs up to the free throw line and scores, pulling Rakuzan ahead once more. His eyes glow two different colours, the contrast stark and jarring.

Shūtoku doesn’t score even a single point for the rest of the quarter. Rakuzan walks off the court for the one-minute break with a 14-point lead.

* * *

Two minutes into the final quarter, Kimura tries to screen out Akashi for Midorima to run free. However, using his Emperor Eye, Akashi foresees it and simply dodges it. Midorima receives the ball but is unable to move without endangering ball possession, due to Akashi's tight defense.

Akashi leaps forward and steals the ball before anyone can react. Kimura and Miyaji immediately close in on him, but Akashi does a crossover and ankle-breaks them, too, dribbling past them in the process. He reaches the basket and goes for the layup but is met by Ōtsubo, who tries to block it. Akashi switches to a pass for Nebuya, who dunks it; Hayama scores another basket soon after.

During the next transition by Shūtoku, a rushed Takao tries to go for a layup but is blocked by Mibuchi. Lightning fast, Akashi is already on the other side of the court but encounters Midorima on his way. However, another crossover has Midorima falling before his former captain, and Akashi easily scores.

Shūtoku is 20 points behind. Even Izuki, a simple observer, is starting to lose hope for them.

* * *

The next attack, Takao takes his time setting up. Izuki watches with a frown.

“Could it be?” he wonders out loud. “Such a high-risk strategy…”

The rest of Seirin looks at him in confusion. Izuki starts to explain, “They’re desperate. They can’t give up now… so they’re doing whatever they can.”

He turns back to the game, where Midorima is facing off against Akashi. Midorima jumps - but he holds no ball. He moves into a shooting position, hands still empty.

_ What even_ _—?!_

But not for long, as Takao shows up suddenly on Midorima’s left and passes directly into Midorima’s hands. Those hands flick forwards just as the ball lands in them: a perfect throw that flies straight and true into the basket.

The look of shock on Akashi’s face is something that Izuki relishes a little too much.

* * *

Shūtoku wards off Rakuzan for a little longer, preventing them from scoring while using Midorima and Takao’s crazy combination shot to level the points. They’re starting to catch up, only fourteen points behind when it is Rakuzan’s attack once more.

“He’s facing this… _ thing _ for the first time,” Izuki says, referring to the Emperor Eye. He looks to Koganei to continue - it’s a thing Izuki’s been doing, having Koga complete his analysis so that the amateur shooting guard starts to get a better feel of the game.

Koganei quickly catches on and finishes, “So Midorima is taking a gamble in order to win!”

“And Akashi is getting visibly pressured,” Izuki goes on, pointing out the redheaded captain. “You can’t tell, but his posture is a little tenser than it should be. That’s how you know you’ve got him - you just have to make sure to keep it that way.”

It’s Akashi’s possession next, and he’s facing off against Midorima. The two snarl some words at each other, before Akashi once more executes his ankle breaker, leaving Midorima on the ground as he proceeds up the court.

But victory isn’t as easy as that. Indeed, Izuki watches incredulously as Midorima actually _ gets up _ and makes it to Akashi in time to _ block his shot_.

Rakuzan’s next few attacks progress much the same way. Shūtoku presses them back with the force of a phoenix having risen from its own ashes, cutting the deficit to 11 points. They turn up the pressure a few notches further, Midorima and Takao double-teaming Akashi.

That’s approximately when Akashi goes off his rocker. He steps back, raising the ball in his hands. Izuki doesn’t believe his own eyes as he watches Akashi shoot at _ his own goal_.

The whistle blows for Shūtoku’s score. A 9-point gap.

_ Is he insane?! _

But no. As Akashi talks to his teammates, Izuki senses _ something _ off about that goal. Is it possible that he… that he used it to _ motivate his team_?

Izuki doesn’t want to be right. But he is, because within seconds the Uncrowned Kings are executing a smooth offence, taking back the points that Shūtoku had won with so much difficulty.

Midorima doesn’t seem dispirited, instead gearing up for his special attack. He jumps - Takao moves in from the side—

And Akashi stops the pass.

Izuki realises with a sinking feeling what has happened. Midorima is left-handed - which means Takao’s passes will have to come from the left.

Rakuzan continues to score mercilessly, leaving Shūtoku gasping for breath. They’re able to net a few points, but it’s Rakuzan who dominates the rest of the game completely. In the last few minutes, Mibuchi even pulls off a four-point play by not only making a three-pointer, but forcing Takao into fouling him. The free throw lands perfectly in the hoop.

There are five seconds to go, and Akashi is against Midorima. Rakuzan’s score is now 84 as opposed to Shūtoku’s 70 - there is no way in hell that they can orchestrate a comeback. Sadness curls in Izuki’s chest, and, more than that, _ rage _ at how casually Akashi has brushed aside Shūtoku’s effort.

Akashi ankle-breaks Midorima, who tries to get up but can’t make it in time to the basket. Akashi lays it in with ease.

“86 - 70, Rakuzan High wins!”

* * *

Izuki brushes off the disappointment at Shūtoku’s loss as easily as water - there will be time to help Takao stand back up later on. Now, it’s time for Seirin’s match, the long-awaited revenge game against Kaijō.

Izuki knows all too well not to underestimate Kaijō and Kise. They’ve lost to Seirin once and will be out for blood this time, ready to do anything to win.

But it’s Seirin who will play Rakuzan in the finals. Because it’s Kiyoshi’s last chance to win with them… and Izuki will be damned before he lets him lose that.

The two teams warm up, and Kise draws Seirin's attention by doing Kagami's lane-up that he performed during the Winter Cup preliminaries. Izuki nudges Kuroko and Kagami both, whispering, “Looks like that’s their greeting. Why don’t you two give a befitting reply?”

The shadow-light duo smirks and nods, and they do an alley-oop combined with Kagami's lane-up which is just as, if not more, impressive. Izuki and Kasamatsu share a nod from opposite ends of the warmup area, acknowledging each other as national-level captains that stand on equal ground. The light of challenge in Kasamatsu’s gunmetal-blue eyes serves only to further feed the fire that’s already tearing at Izuki’s insides.

“I just feel this pure, unadulterated competitive drive,” he says as they step onto the court. “I wonder what drives me to it.”

At that, even Kiyoshi facepalms. “Really, Shun?”

Izuki shrugs and grins. “You know I had to.”

The captains shake hands, Izuki not using any intimidation tactics this time. Kasamatsu knows him and Seirin for what they are, and vice versa. This will be an honest game played by both teams to their full strengths.

“I’m gonna beat you hollow, Kagamicchi! I’m filled up with fighting spirit!” declares Kise.

Kagami just laughs. “Hurry up, let’s get started already,” he says with equal hunger for the game.

Kise grins, turning to Kuroko. “What about you, Kurokocchi?”

“I used to mentor you, back in Teikō…” Kuroko speaks contemplatively, avoiding the question. “Because of that, I felt you were special. But you passed me by in no time, so I felt frustrated. I didn’t want to lose to you,” he continues, smiling at Kise with real happiness. “Ever since then, I’ve had this one-way notion… that Kise-kun is my rival.”

Kise smiles back, his own grin filled with the same joy. “I’m surprised to hear that, but I won’t complain. Looking forward to it, _ rival_.”

* * *

At the bench, Riko advises them quickly on what to do.

“Kise-kun will use his Perfect Copy in the end; there’s no doubt he will save it for the end of the match, since it can only last for five minutes. So score now. Score as much as you can, as hard as you can, as fast as you can. The game has to go at your pace - Izuki-kun, you have to control it as tightly as possible.”

Izuki nods. “I’ll keep the flow on our side for sure.”

Riko smiles. “Good to hear. The rest of you, pull no punches! Give everything now and you will thank yourselves later.”

“Yes, Coach!” the team choruses. “Seirin, _ fight_!”

And with that, they head onto the court, ready for anything Kaijō throws at them.

* * *

The tip-off starts, and Kiyoshi and Kobori jump for the ball. Kiyoshi wins it with his yaoi hands - erm, Right of Postponement - and passes to Izuki, who immediately goes for the fast break. Kise catches up with him quickly, being the only one on Kaijō who can keep up with Izuki’s speed, and Izuki allows his instincts to guide him as he passes to Kuroko.

The ball disappears for a split second and reappears as it falls through the hoop. Izuki cheers mentally - Seirin has won the first points of the game. Hopefully, they can keep up the same momentum for the rest of the first quarter.

A second later, however, he is left staring at Seirin’s own hoop as the ball swishes into the basket without so much as touching the rim, having been shot by Kise - _ whose eyes glow golden_.

Indeed, Kise’s activated his Perfect Copy against all odds. Izuki curses to himself, narrowing his eyes and focusing on the blond Miracle.

_ Kaijō’s already ahead! We should’ve expected this kind of planning… _

Well, there is no time to fret about that now. They’ve just got to pull it together and _ win_.

Izuki takes a deep breath, grounding himself, and moves forward, taking the ball with ease. He goes for another fast break, passing to Kuroko, who redirects it towards Kiyoshi. However, Kobori is right there, and he is no slouch, jumping for what is certain to be a block.

Kiyoshi doesn’t shoot, though. Instead, he passes to Koganei.

Koga’s form seems to stun Kaijō into inaction, despite the fact that they’ve probably watched him use it against Tōō and Yōsen. Well, it seems to stun all of them save for one.

Kise Ryōta, ever the exception, jumps high for the block, glowing purple with his Murasakibara copy as he swipes Koganei’s would-be three out of the air. Izuki wants to scream - they _ just _ beat the monstrosity that was Murasakibara Atsushi, and now _ this_, too?

But, as he thought earlier, there’s no time to dwell on these things. This is the time to act, lest the opponent be too quick for you. And indeed, the transition to Kaijō’s offence is too fast for anyone other than Izuki to react.

Luckily, he does, chasing Kise to the half-court line. Kiyoshi, being on the opposing side of the court, has met Kise there, challenging him for the ball. Kise simply looks at him with cold brown eyes - and then he trails blue as he uses Aomine’s speed and agility, faking a shot and passing Kiyoshi easily with a crossover.

Kise reaches the basket, but Kagami’s already waiting for him, having entered his state of animal instinct. Kise drives towards him, and it looks for a second like Kagami will stop him.

Then, Kise’s eyes glow with something strange - something that is eerily familiar, something Izuki does not like in the least bit.

_ The Emperor Eye. _

Seirin is well and truly _ screwed_.

Kise uses the Eye to make a speedy crossover reminiscent of that brat, ankle-breaking Kagami, who falls backwards. Kise doesn’t waste a second, scoring from the free-throw line.

He continues on like that, scoring and scoring until Kaijō has an 11-point lead - 13 to Seirin’s 2 so far. And it’s then, Kaijō having established their dominance, that Kise drops the ball - _ literally_. (Nice one!)

Well, not _ exactly_. The ball drops by itself, through the hoop, and Izuki rushes to scoop it up before Kise does, deriving much satisfaction from the shock on his face. He runs as fast as he can, determined not to think about the fact that their ace has just been defeated.

He stops just outside Kaijō’s basket - but Kise is already there. His intimidating aura, that of Murasakibara’s, makes Izuki reconsider.

A flailing hand and a determined expression from Seirin’s shooting guard, however, has him decided. Izuki shoots off a pass towards Koganei.

_ It rests on you now, Koga… come on! _

“If we can’t stop them,” Koganei whispers harshly, “then we’ll just have to score more points!”

And he steps back for the Barrier Jumper.

Moriyama, his mark, follows quickly, unfazed by the shift in the centre of gravity. But Koganei does not possess two forms for nothing.

He shifts easily into his Ray Allen copy, slinging the ball low but fast and far. Kise goes to block, but Izuki pins him down with a foot to his right, preventing movement without a certain foul. Still, Kise circumvents Izuki’s grasp - but by then it’s too late. Koganei’s ball slips beautifully into the basket, swishing around in the net as if to taunt Kaijō, then dropping down.

Izuki feels overwhelming pride well up in his chest as he looks at Koganei, mentally layering the Koga of last year over this one. Comparing the diffident and lazy boy he was to the hardworking and strong man he is now.

It’s like watching a reverse transformation of Hyūga. Izuki couldn’t be happier.

* * *

It’s Seirin’s offence again, Koganei leading the attack. Moriyama falls for his Barrier Jumper bait once more, but this time Koga doesn’t use his other form. He passes to Kuroko, who ducks past Kise with Vanishing Drive and sets up for his Phantom Shot.

_ Even if Kise tries, he can’t. Murasakibara couldn’t block it, _ Izuki thinks vindictively. _ We should be fine. _

And indeed, things seem fine. Right up until Kuroko shoots… and the ball thuds against Kise’s raised hand.

Izuki stares at Kise in astonishment, trying to figure out _ how _he’d even done it. Then it strikes him as he watches the unnatural glow of the Emperor Eye fade from Kise’s vision to reveal the focused electricity of the Perfect Copy.

_ Of course. He used both Emperor Eye and Murasakibara’s block. So he can combine attacks, too? That’s insane. _

Izuki glances at the clock - they’re halfway into the first quarter, and it’s been two full minutes since Kise started to use his Perfect Copy. He isn’t showing any signs of turning it off, but what would be the point of using it all up now when he can keep it as a trump card for later? No, it’s far more likely that Kise will deactivate it after the next minute, leaving two whole minutes to use later in case Seirin pulls ahead or threatens Kaijō’s 10-point lead.

Izuki shakes himself out of his thoughts as Kise continues with his on-court brilliance, copying first Aomine, then Midorima, and then Murasakibara’s _ Thor Hammer_. He’s not aping them to the letter, Izuki realises; instead, Kise is adapting those moves to fit his own body type - jumping higher with more spin for Murasakibara’s moves, adding more power for Midorima’s shots.

Then, _ finally,_ Kise’s eyes stop glowing, and he smirks.

“Copying those guys… ah, it’s pretty rough. I’ll take a break for now; can’t collapse so soon into the game, right?” He grins at Kagami and Kuroko, both of whom are looking at him with consternation in their eyes. “But it worked. It served its purpose. We have the initiative now.”

And Kise’s _ right_; Seirin is struggling to stay afloat. Izuki watches the rest of his team, already breathing hard despite it being barely five minutes into the game, and exhales a deep sigh of his own.

_ They have the flow. They are in control of the game. But we have to stay calm… we have to regain control, and the only way to do that is not to worry about it. _

Logically, Izuki knows all these things. But mentally? He’s got to admit, he’s pretty shaken up by the power of that Perfect Copy. He inhales deeply, trying to steady the nerves that are trembling inside of him.

“Come on,” he says aloud. Speaking grounds him a little, anchors him to the real world. “The game’s just started. We have three and a half quarters to go; let’s not waste any of it.”

Seirin nods, looking a little unsteady, but agreeing anyway. Izuki gives them a weak smile and settles into the court properly.

He will not lose this match. _ They _ will not lose this match.

* * *

They have to close the gap. They _ can’t mess up_. That’s the thought running through all of Seirin’s heads as they play, each of them highly alert and guarded.

It’s Seirin’s attack, and Izuki passes to Koganei, whose eyes look almost _ desperate_. Despite being in the worst position to shoot, Koga crumbles to the pressure to score and takes an uncomfortable shot.

It doesn’t so much as graze the rim of the basket, nor touch the net, and Izuki has to look twice before he believes it.

_ Koga throwing an air ball? No way! _

But Kaijō has already reacted in Seirin’s split second of inaction, stealing the fallen ball and going up for their offence. Kiyoshi’s block, panicked and slow, is barely on time to stop Hayakawa’s dunk - Izuki lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding when Kiyoshi succeeds.

Desperate for points, Kagami misses the next shot as well, even though his fadeaway is near perfect. Izuki frowns, chewing his lower lip, and with immense force of will clears his mind.

_ Focus on the court, _ he tells himself. _ Come on, think. This is where you’re in your element! When things get heated up, you’ve got to stay cool. _

An intense and sudden clarity washes over him as he focuses on his breathing, taking short and steady gulps of air and timing it just right. The repetition helps calm his overheated mind, and Izuki slips into his usual in-game state of hyper concentration.

_ What’s wrong with this? _he questions himself.

The answer shimmers into view in his brain like it’s always been there.

_ The pace is too fast - especially since we aren’t controlling it. We have to slow it down a little. _

_ But how? _

Izuki glances over at the bench, where Riko catches his eye. Next to her sits Furihata, trembling slightly in place.

_ Of course, _ Izuki realises. _ Clever, Coach! Furi is a really careful guy on the court… he takes his own time to get settled. We have to sub him in, but for who? _

“Send me out,” Kuroko volunteers quickly, sensing Izuki’s dilemma. “I’m not helping much, and I think I could use a little break. I feel a bit hot.”

Izuki looks properly at Kuroko, seeing flushed cheeks and shiny eyes, and raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” reassures Kuroko, “I always get like this when I get overheated. We have to move quickly, senpai, we don’t have time to waste!” And, ever the pragmatic voice of reason, he jogs towards the bench, giving Furihata an encouraging bro-hug and saying something Izuki can’t hear as they exchange places.

Furi walks onto the court with the most nervous expression Izuki has ever known him to wear. His knees knock together, and he’s trembling like a newborn fawn. Kagami claps him on the shoulder, saying, “Do your best!”

“Do your best?” Furihata mutters in terror. “Is that English? Some kind of vegetable?!”

This doesn’t bode well for Seirin. Furi’s task is to slow the pace - but if he is too nervous even to do that…

Izuki sighs out loud, walking over to the younger point guard. He meets Furihata’s eyes, stating coolly and clearly, “Furi, you’ve got one job.”

“Y - yes?” Furihata trembles.

“_Take it at your own pace_,” Izuki says, smiling encouragingly. “Do whatever you want. Just make sure that the ball ends up with me once you’re done, okay?”

Furi nods shortly and jogs to his place, still shaking all over, but less like a very frightened rabbit and more like a… slightly _ less _frightened rabbit.

Still, it’ll do for now. Izuki, on the one hand, is capable enough of lowering the pace of the game, but he’s far more comfortable coordinating at high speeds; his style is to play it fast and loose, so fast that the opponent is blinded by their swiftness. Furihata, on the other hand, is much more efficient at taking his own time. Besides, two people with well-polished analytical skills on the court can only do good for the team, right?

The strategy turns out to be extremely effective. Though Furihata shakes like a leaf in front of steely-eyed Kasamatsu, he relies completely on his teammates, using the twenty-four seconds that he’s allowed the ball to full advantage. Despite the fact that he only ever passes to Izuki, the rest of the team makes sure that Kaijō can’t get to the ball, allowing Izuki to set up the court perfectly for scoring.

Furihata is more than good at this. In fact, as he settles into the game, he even starts to look comfortable with the way he’s playing. When the ball goes to Kagami, he actually works up the courage to _ ask for it back_, having sensed that Kagami will be blocked by Kaijō’s defence set-up. Izuki is more than proud of his protege, recalling the numerous sessions he’d spent with Furihata training him in observation (these often consisted of ‘spot the difference’ games cut from newspapers. Never let it be said that Izuki didn’t work very hard as a captain) and smiling at the results.

Being set up carefully and cautiously by Furihata, Kagami - who has the ball - takes the opening with Kiyoshi, who swings it back outside for Koganei to make the shot.

The sound of the net swishing as the ball lands in it loosens the tight worry in Seirin’s chests at long last.

It’s Kaijō’s offence next, and Kasamatsu is dribbling up the court when all of a sudden, Furihata starts to pressure him. Kasamatsu doesn’t flinch, driving past him with ease, but has to avoid Kuroko as well, who goes in for a steal. This in-and-out dance makes Kasamatsu almost lose his balance, leading to him not finding a good shooting position, and his throw bounces off the rim of the basket.

Kiyoshi grabs the rebound out of the air, letting out a war cry. Furi catches on to his meaning quickly and starts to run for a fast break, looking around cautiously as he does so. Izuki and the rest of Seirin follow his lead, waiting for Furihata to make his move.

Furihata approaches the hoop, slow and simple. He looks around carefully - no one there, Kaijō is still catching up.

And for once in his life, he doesn't hesitate as he lays the ball cleanly into the basket.

The whistle blows for the end of the first quarter at 21 - 19, Kaijō still leading but with not an iota of the control they had exerted over the game minutes ago.

Furihata's job is done, and he's done it better than anyone expected of him.

* * *

Riko looks over to Kaijō's bench as she speaks to her team. Izuki and Furihata look too, noticing that Takeuchi's body language and hand movements are tending heavily towards Kasamatsu.

"They're going to focus on their captain," Izuki, Furihata, and Riko all say at the same moment. Then they all exchange glances and burst into short laughs at the unexpected coordination before reverting to the serious matter at hand.

"I'll handle Yukio-senpai," Izuki takes on the responsibility immediately. "Except Kagami, who we need on Kise, I'm the only one that can match his speed and reaction time, and I’ve got an idea to stop that drive of his.”

“I’ll take on Kise,” adds Kagami quickly. “We need a strong protection against him, so if Kiyoshi-senpai can help me out there…”

“Definitely!” Kiyoshi nods and gives him a wide smile.

“I’ll try to shoot as many threes as possible,” says Koga with determination. “I’ll do my best to help on the offence.”

“Good. That sounds like a plan.” She turns to Furihata, saying, “Furi, good job! Now stay here and keep practising observing the court.”

Furihata’s cheeks flush with pleasure at the praise. “Thank you, Coach,” he says shyly, following her instructions.

Izuki and Riko quickly turn to Kuroko, who’s already sliding on his wristbands.

“As usual?” Izuki asks.

“As usual, senpai,” Kuroko confirms readily, an eager light in his eyes. Izuki might have underestimated his desire to defeat Kise in particular.

“Let’s get out there and win this game, then! Seirin, _ fight_!”

* * *

Back on the court, Kiyoshi doesn’t waste any time in supplementing the defense. A missed attempt at a three from Izuki is converted swiftly into a two, pulling Seirin level with Kaijō at long last.

Then the opposing team starts to shift formation. Izuki’s breath quickens in excitement as they clear a path straight to the hoop, a path whose only obstructors are Kasamatsu and Izuki. A one-on-one between the captains of both teams.

Izuki inhales deeply once more, this time to steady the hands that are shaking from enthusiasm. This showdown between himself and Kasamatsu has been a long time coming, and for the first time in a while he can feel the blood thumping in his veins on the court. Izuki isn’t one to get fired up so easily, so he’s a little surprised, but he goes with it anyway.

_ My drive will beat your drive today, Yukio-senpai, _he thinks, smiling to himself at the pun.

“What’s that smile about?” remarks Kasamatsu, taking his place opposite him. “Still thinking I’ll underestimate you like the last time we played, Shun?”

“No way!” Izuki barks a laugh. “Nah, I’ve been waiting for this. Now that it’s finally here, there are no words to describe how good it feels.”

“True,” says Kasamatsu. “You beat me last time; and don’t you know, they say revenge is a dessert best served cold?”

“We’re still serving the main course, senpai, so dessert will have to wait,” Izuki retorts, keeping an eye out for the ball.

Something niggles in the back of his brain, and he frowns, trying to dredge up the bit of information. Kasamatsu was the one who told him this, he recalls absently - he has even practised a new style of play using that advice.

And that’s when it pops into his head.

_ You both have better vision, but those of us without the vision have better focus. You’re so assured in your sight that you forget to look at what’s going on in the court in real time. You miss small details while looking at the larger picture. _

Though Eagle Eye _ does _ give him a new perspective, it can cloud his regular vision to the point that he misses what’s going on in the match. Seasoned players like Kasamatsu can easily take advantage of that split second of hesitation…

But Kasamatsu made his mistake a very long time ago - the mistake of giving him that advice.

Izuki deliberately turns on the Eagle Eye, making sure to leave it on as a humming noise of sorts in the background and using his regular vision to observe the small details of the court. And his trick works; the pass that was going to go from Kasamatsu to Kobori instead turns into a drive from Kasamatsu.

_ Read him! _ Izuki commands himself, focusing on Kasamatsu’s body. _ Left… no, right! _

And just as Kasamatsu moves, intent on driving past him, Izuki steals the ball as fast as lightning and dashes up the court, calling, “Koga!”

The shooting guard catches the ball and flings it at the goal without thinking, netting three beautiful points for Seirin.

21 - 22, in their favour at long last. Izuki grins at Kasamatsu, who shakes his head wearily.

“Using my own advice against me. What a terrible student you are,” he says, affecting an old man’s voice.

“The true student is the one who beats the master at his own game,” Izuki says quickly, sliding back into their familiar banter. “I swore to myself, my drive would beat your drive today, _ kitakore_.”

“When did you get so wise?” asks Kasamatsu with a sigh, ignoring his pun and receiving the ball from Kobori, who was quick to grab it once Koga scored. Izuki just laughs, not bothering to reply and instead focusing carefully on Kasamatsu’s movements.

Kasamatsu shifts his weight right, left, then right again. Izuki narrows his eyes, trying to figure out _ what the hell _his upperclassman is doing—

But it’s far too late, as Kasamatsu successfully passes through his defence in his moment of distraction, ball clutched tightly in hand. The sound of the scoring whistle is shrill and unpleasant to Izuki’s ears, and his chest stings at the loss.

“What was that about the main course?” Kasamatsu teases, wearing an enormous grin as he comes forward to guard Izuki once more. Again, it’s Kaijō’s offence, and he has the ball - it looks like they are pinning all their hopes on him.

For once in his life, Izuki doesn’t have a witty retort. He is too concentrated on finding the best way to take his own revenge on Kasamatsu for that clever move.

And, he realises with an inward devious smile, he knows the perfect way to do so.

“You must be getting rusty, Shun… where’s the usual cutting response?” Kasamatsu says challengingly, gearing up to perform the same move. Izuki keeps his face a mask of calm neutrality, betraying no emotion at all and staying silent.

Kasamatsu does the same shifting of weight and repeats his movements. Izuki lets him, smiling to himself at what he’s got planned.

It happens so fast. But the Izuki of today is all too used to fast.

Kasamatsu completes his drive with a satisfied expression, thinking he’s passed Izuki. A cry goes up from the bench, but Izuki ignores it.

“With a flash of anger, the ball flashes away from you!” he murmurs to himself, shifting his own weight backwards and turning on the Eagle Eye. Kasamatsu still has the ball, clutched loosely in the palm of his right hand.

That’s where Izuki strikes, jabbing backwards with his left hand and tipping the ball well out of Kasamatsu’s reach with his Eagle Spear.

Kasamatsu freezes as the ball falls out of his hands, bouncing forwards to Kiyoshi, who quickly picks it up and scores.

“You…!” Kasamatsu turns to him, incredulity on his face. “You targeted the most defenceless moment, after a full drive?! _ After _ you fell for my move?”

Izuki allows the slightest hint of a cunning smile to appear on his face as he says in a colourless tone, “Yukio-senpai, you of all people should know that the same thing will never work twice on me…”

“You wicked thing, you’re going to kill me before my time,” Kasamatsu curses him without any heat.

Izuki just grins and tilts his head, the picture of boyish innocence. “What I did was stop your drive, that’s all, Yukio-senpai. You can’t blame me for trying my hardest to win with my friends, right?” he asks guilelessly.

Kasamatsu points a finger at him. “Don’t act all innocent! I know the devil that lives inside you!” he declares dramatically.

Izuki raises his eyes to heaven. “You say devils, but _ de vil _ not take the time to possess a basketball player like me, _ kitakore_.”

“I’m not even going to acknowledge that,” Kasamatsu says, turning away from Izuki and sticking his nose into the air. It had taken almost a month for him to start understanding the terrible puns Izuki often makes in the group chat they have with Takao, and another month for him to tire of them.

“What are you trying to smell up there? Attempting to get some more oxygen so your brain can comprehend my brilliance?” Izuki teases, keeping Kasamatsu distracted as he prepares to receive the ball from Kuroko.

“I’m not that stupid, Shun. I know what you’re doing!” And with that, Kasamatsu wheels around to intercept Kuroko’s pass.

“I’m not that stupid either… I know you know,” Izuki says softly, staying in place and waiting for the pass. The pass that is going to come not from the front…

But from the side.

Izuki catches the ball easily and shoots with steady hands. The ball falls into the basket beautifully, not even so much as grazing the rim.

_ Perfect. _He grins at Kasamatsu, who just gives him a steely gaze that would shake any ordinary man.

* * *

The ball, now back in circulation, ends up with Izuki once more. Kasamatsu’s defence is as tight as usual, and Izuki is having some difficulty passing him.

So he decides to try the method that always works - especially on straight-laced guys like Kasamatsu. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth seeing as he’s already done this to him, but oh well. What has to be done, has to be done.

“By the way, how’s things going with Kise?” Izuki asks, purposely goading the other point guard. “I heard some rumours… are you really taking it up the ass?”

Kasamatsu doesn’t reply, though a blush paints itself across his face. He looks down at his shoes for a split second, embarrassed by the brazen comment.

That’s when Izuki strikes, driving past him with lightning speed. He goes to dunk—

Except, he doesn’t _ have the ball_. He turns around, mouth half-open, to see Kasamatsu smirking at him, ball in hand.

Izuki remembers with a bit of dread that he is facing one of the few players who can keep up with his speed.

“Take your own advice, Shun. The same move won’t work on me twice,” Kasamatsu says slyly.

Izuki lets out a laugh that’s half frustration and half amazement. “Wow. You really got one over on me.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll hit back. Isn’t that how we do things?”

“It is,” Izuki concedes. “But I think it’s time to let Kagami and Kise play it out, huh? Look at them.”

Indeed, both aces are staring hard at their respective captains, vibrating in place as they wait for the play to come their way.

“Agreed,” Kasamatsu says with a slight smirk. “But let’s see if you can stop me from scoring again; it’s your turn to defend, right? It’s only fair that we conclude with an equal number of chances.”

Izuki doesn’t reply, just smiling and dropping into his defensive stance. He activates Eagle Eye, but also continues to focus on the court - it’s one of the things he practised with Kagetora over the winter training camp. Kasamatsu’s advice had worked splendidly, as had the idea of training his reaction time to be far sharper. If there’s one thing that no one else in this Winter Cup (excluding the Generation of Miracles) has over him, it’s got to be his reaction time.

That’s what he plans to put to good use in today’s match, as well as in the final.

“Come on,” he says, half to himself. “Come at me with all you’ve got. I’m gonna pressure you so hard, you’re going to feel like a cooker at the end of it.” Never let it be said that Izuki Shun isn’t competitive.

“A cooker?” Kasamatsu raises his eyebrows. “The last time I tried to cook, it was a disaster. Hope you choke on the food inside this cooker.”

Izuki once again doesn’t respond, choosing instead to carefully observe Kasamatsu. The older point guard shifts his weight right, but by this time, Izuki’s learned where to look.

His eyes find Kasamatsu’s centre of gravity, and he puts out a hand towards the left, intent on stopping the drive or stealing the pass that’s bound to come from there. Just as well, because if he’d been even a second too late, that pass would’ve gone to Moriyama, wide open to take one of his ugly shots.

“Clever, are we?” Kasamatsu asks, smiling. “Oh, well. I suppose it’s time to give this match over to whom it really belongs.”

And as Izuki lunges forward to steal the ball, he shifts backwards, passing to Kise. Kasamatsu dusts off his hands, giving Izuki a confident smile.

“I see it’s the aces’ turn to ace it,” Izuki says, smiling back. “_K__itakore_!”

To his surprise, Kasamatsu lets out a soft snort. “That one wasn’t as bad as usual.”

* * *

Izuki watches the showdown between the aces and notices how strikingly similar it is to the Kagami-Aomine match that occurred so recently. Kagami looms with all the grace of a wild tiger, raw power sealed in an athletic body, whereas Kise ducks and dodges with the fluid ease of a wildcat, style and skill pulsing from his every movement.

Neither backs down from the other - they’ve both seen worse. They’re at an impasse, circling each other like predatory beasts, when Kagami finally breaks through, driving past Kise and going for the dunk.

Another two points to Seirin, placing them in the lead again. Kaijō goes to attack with Kise going to shoot, but Kagami avoids Hayakawa’s screen and blocks the shot.

Izuki stays marking Kasamatsu despite every bone in his body calling to help Kagami out. This is the battle of the aces - it isn’t a good idea to intervene. One look at Kasamatsu’s own form and he knows he feels the same.

The ball drops, and that’s when Izuki runs for it, seeing clearly that Kagami cannot turn in time to pick it up. He gathers it up in his hands and fast-breaks down the court, going at full speed and trusting that Kagami can keep up. He passes to their ace, who indeed exceeds expectations and catches the ball. Kise’s already blocking, but Kagami quickly drives and shoots.

Izuki winces as the ball leaves his hand half a second too early, sweat drops visible as it flies through the air. Kagami’s lost his grip; and as a result, the ball bounces cleanly off the rim, falling to the ground.

Then, all of a sudden, Kaijō calls for a substitution. Izuki looks up, startled, to see that they’re pulling Kise out and replacing him with a silver-haired, bespectacled boy wearing the number 9.

_ Nakamura Shinya, _ Izuki recalls. _ Top eight in defence across the nation. Another Tsugawa, huh? _

They’re going to have to be careful around this guy. They can’t let him get on Koganei; Koga is their sharpest weapon right now in terms of scoring.

Kise seems to be reluctant to leave; Izuki can understand that. He probably still wants to play against Kagami, do _ something _ for his team - but his substitution is also for the best. That leg injury Haizaki gave him can’t be doing anything but making him weaker by the second, and it’s a risk Kaijō can’t afford to take. They’ll need that Perfect Copy in the last two minutes against a beast like Kagami.

Then it’s Kagami’s offence, and he’s immediately double-teamed by Hayakawa and Nakamura.

Izuki smiles to himself.

_ Perfect. _

“Kagami, pass!” he cries.

Kagami, understanding Izuki’s tone, does just that - except with his left hand. The left hand that his defenders aren’t expecting him to use… the left hand, whose pass goes straight to the wide-open Koganei.

With no blocker in time to stop him, Koga takes a comfortable shot. The ball lands in the basket, securing an easy three points.

30 - 35, to Seirin.

Izuki hears a soft mumbling and looks to Kasamatsu, the source of the sound. He’s staring hard at Kuroko, drawing in the air with his finger, and for the life of him, Izuki can’t figure out what he’s doing. It looks like he’s calculating the trajectory of a shot.

That’s when it clicks.

Izuki’s blood chills as he speaks softly, “You figured out something. Something about Kuroko.”

Kasamatsu turns to him, mouth slightly open, and then he tilts his head and grins, so much like the grin Izuki has given him so many times.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he says mockingly and walks off.

Izuki stays rooted to the spot, a little shocked by Kasamatsu’s intuition. Then he shakes himself, trying to narrow down what Kasamatsu has figured out. They just have to not use that move, that’s all.

He has a sneaking suspicion as to what it could be, judging by the fact that he seemed to be visualising a trajectory, but best not to assume. For now, Kuroko should simply use his misdirection - Vanishing Drive and Phantom Shot are both cards they can’t afford to play against Kasamatsu.

“Kuroko,” he whispers harshly to the smaller boy, who looks up at him questioningly. Izuki chances a glance at Kasamatsu, who isn’t looking his way, and continues softly, “At no cost are you to use the Vanishing Drive or Phantom Shot. I think Kasamatsu might have figured one of them out, so best not to use both.”

Kuroko nods. “I see. Getting one stopped will simply reduce team morale.”

“Exactly.” Izuki gives him a small smile. “Don’t feel down about it. You’ve got plenty of other aces up your sleeve.”

“And one up my ass,” Kuroko says with a hint of a smirk.

“I did not need to know that,” Izuki says with some revulsion, then takes his place as the match begins again.

The next offence is on Kaijō. Hayakawa misses his shot, and the fight for the rebound commences. Kiyoshi and Kobori compete for the ball, and Kiyoshi almost wins, but Kobori cleverly screens him out and gets the offensive rebound. He then passes to Moriyama, whom Koganei is too late to stop from making another three.

33 - 35, still in Seirin’s favour.

Suddenly, the whistle blows, making all the players freeze. The slow and steady pace of the game has been brought to an abrupt halt by the referee, who calls out, “Black #11, substitution!”

Izuki frowns, looking at Riko, who just shakes her head, beckoning Kuroko off the court.

“I think it’s because my misdirection won’t work so well. We’ve already faced them once before, so they’ll be used to it,” says Kuroko.

“Might be,” says Kagami. “Anyway, don’t worry. We held the fort down when you were useless; just believe in us!”

Kuroko rolls his eyes at Kagami’s dramatic words but goes off the court quietly, to be replaced by Mitobe. The strong and silent center falls into his role easily, supporting from the shadows as Seirin continues with their hard and fast offence. Kaijō is no less, retaliating point for point until the end of the second quarter, where the two teams land tied 44-all.

* * *

In the locker rooms, Izuki pours out his news to the rest of the team with urgency.

“Kasamatsu has Phantom Shot or Vanishing Drive figured out, it’s one of the two. I believe it’s Phantom Shot, but we can’t be too sure. Kuroko shouldn’t use either one today.”

“That’s ridiculous,” says Kagami. “Even _ I _can’t stop Phantom Shot.”

Riko fixes him with a steady glare. “Kagami-kun, you are _ not _ the world’s greatest basketball player.” The ‘yet’ goes unsaid. “Kasamatsu, being a point guard, has different talents, and he’s a captain of a national-level team. The guy’s as good as our own dumbass.”

Izuki wisely ignores this comment.

“So don’t underestimate him!” Riko finishes, topping it off by bonking Kagami on the head. Izuki’s a little worried she might cause him permanent brain damage, but then again Kagami has exactly half a grey cell, so the loss of that half won’t impact him too adversely.

“What do we do now?” asks Kiyoshi, seemingly at a loss. “Kobori is a fantastic center, and he’s figured out exactly how to stop me. I’m having some trouble there.”

“We could take you out for Kuroko and set Rinnosuke on him,” suggests Koganei. “He’s a specialist at defence anyway, so isn’t that the best option?”

Riko nods. “I think that works. Izuki-kun?”

“Yeah, perfect,” Izuki replies, assessing the situation. Kobori is indeed giving Kiyoshi a hard time, so it’s probably a good idea to let Mitobe take care of things while he rests a bit. Especially with those legs of his…

Izuki tunes the rest of the thought out, not wanting to sit and contemplate what’ll happen after the Winter Cup. This is their only chance, so they can’t waste it thinking about what’s inevitable.

“What about you? You have to go up against Kasamatsu, is that right?” queries Riko. “Can you do it, Izuki-kun?”

“Definitely. I can’t completely stop him from scoring, but the same goes for him too. I’ll hold him off as far as possible, but that means someone else will have to take the reins on offence. Kagami?”

“Kaijō’s likely to continue their double-team strategy in the third quarter,” Riko says. “He’s got to try and shake them, but it won’t be easy.”

“I’ll do my best!” Kagami says quickly. “I promise that I’ll shatter that double-team by the end of the quarter!”

Riko shakes her head, dismissing the idea. “Too much time. While you should do your best to shake them, we can’t afford to have a loose offence. We’re just going to have to rely on our combined efforts.”

Izuki notices how she pointedly doesn’t mention asking Koganei to shoulder the burden. And he agrees with her, though he hates himself for it. Koganei isn’t experienced enough to be the sword of offence for the whole team, and Izuki doubts whether he’ll even be up to it.

“Perfect. Then get back out there and win this game!” Kiyoshi says encouragingly. “Halftime is almost over… go have some fun!”

“Got it!” shouts the Seirin team, striding out of the locker rooms with their blood roaring in their veins for a good fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments make a blob happy~


	10. headwinds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 05.09.20:  
AGAIN like an idiot i forgot 2 update. well i didnt exactly forget just shit's been going on and hhhhh  
thank u all so much for ur lovely comments i am rlly just over the moon that u like this lil fic!! <3  
chapter song: [Netsujou no Spectrum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nVY01AtjJVo) by Ikimonogakari! though it's a more 'love'-y song, it really captures the spirit of fighting together embodied by both seirin and kaijō imo  
notes on this chapter -- i think it rlly highlights how much the others have grown too. this fic while mainly about izuki is not SOLELY abt him, koga gets to shine and shoulder some responsibility and it was just beautiful to write. i hope its as beautiful to read <3

Izuki and Kasamatsu are marking each other once more, but this time Kasamatsu’s much further back than he should be. It’s almost like he’s trying to get a wider field of vision.

Izuki narrows his eyes, dribbling the ball. Using speed won’t work here; Kasamatsu is as fast as he is. Neither will passing, since his opponent has his eyes out on both sides for Kuroko and Koganei.

_ I have to shoot from the outside. Wonderful. _

Outside shooting is  _ not _ Izuki’s forte. Though he isn’t half bad, he is nowhere on the levels of players like Koganei and Moriyama, and can’t take comfortable shots from beyond the three-point line when pressured.

However, when he’s open like this, the rest of Kaijō clearly not seeing it as a threat because Izuki doesn’t usually go for the basket… the only thing to do is shoot.

He steps back, surprising even himself at the risky angle, and turns on his Eagle Eye. The trajectory the ball needs to take materialises before his eyes, and he instinctively knows how much force to put into it.

He manages to score three points, the ball rolling around the rim of the basket but toppling in anyway. 47 - 44, to Seirin.

“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Kasamatsu says with some shock. “That’s a pretty risky angle to take, Shun. You don’t usually shoot.”

“Yeah, well… usual won’t work against you guys,” Izuki returns, rolling his shoulder to loosen up his joints. “You’re a national-level team, no good will come from playing my regular tricks.”

“Clever, Shun!” Kasamatsu replies with a grin. “You’ve grown a lot since that boy I met at our practice match!”

“You too, Yukio-senpai… I can see your grey hairs all too clearly,  _ grandpa _ ,” Izuki jibes. The joke receives no reply, just a roll of steel-blue eyes.

Kaijō gets the ball next, and Izuki dashes up court alongside Kasamatsu, who has the ball. He slides into position to defend against him.

Kasamatsu takes the same position as earlier, stepping well back. Izuki takes advantage of the situation, activating Eagle Eye and observing the court from twin perspectives. Kasamatsu attempts to drive past, but Izuki quickly shifts in time to stop him. They play a cat-and-mouse game for a while, Kasamatsu unable to pierce through Izuki’s tight defence, Izuki unable to steal the ball.

That’s when Kasamatsu passes to Kobori. Izuki keeps one eye on his mark and the other on the fight between Kobori and Mitobe, which the latter wins. Just as predicted; Koganei truly does know Mitobe like the back of his hand.

It’s Seirin’s offence next, and Izuki breaks free from Kasamatsu with ease. Almost too much ease, he realises as he looks back only to find Kasamatsu standing in place, looking utterly relaxed.

Izuki stops short, ball in hand, as his new mark comes in front of him - it’s Nakamura, two whole inches taller than him and about five kilograms heavier. Kasamatsu strolls up the court like he’s taking a walk in the park, coolly marking the one Izuki has tried so hard to keep him away from.

Kuroko.

Izuki tries to shake Nakamura, but the second-year refuses to budge. His defence is tight, and he leaves Izuki no openings to move past. Izuki steps back quickly and suddenly, in a weak semblance of Koganei’s Barrier Jumper move, but it doesn’t faze Nakamura, who just moves forward with him.

_ A defence veteran on par with Mitobe. God, what have I gotten myself into? _

Izuki looks around for open players, trying to find a pass course. If he takes any more time, either the shot clock will ring or the ball will be stolen. He’s down to his last ten seconds when he sees it.

Kuroko’s wide open.

_ But no! Kasamatsu’s right there… _

The double-team is still on Kagami, Hayakawa and Kobori pinning him down. Koganei is open, but he’s too far for Izuki to make the pass without Nakamura taking it from him. Even if Koga were to move closer, the distance between them means that by the time he nears Izuki, the shot clock will run out.

_ The only option is to pass to Kuroko,  _ Izuki decides grimly, cursing himself for letting Kasamatsu’s clever strategy get the better of him.

So he passes, too fast for Nakamura to stop. Kasamatsu lunges forward, intent on making the steal, but Kuroko has already deftly grabbed the ball out of the air.

The slight blue-haired boy looks around frantically, clearly remembering Izuki’s advice not to use the Phantom Shot or the Vanishing Drive. The shot clock keeps ticking; time is slipping through their fingers.

Kagami isn’t open, and Koga is even farther from Kuroko than he was from Izuki. Kuroko attempts to shake Kasamatsu, but the opposing captain has moved back to give himself a wider field of vision, making it near impossible for Kuroko to dart out of his sight. Kasamatsu is far faster, after all.

Panic is clearly visible in Kuroko’s wide, wild eyes. Izuki curses under his breath, praying to all the gods he knows that Kuroko just  _ stays calm, doesn’t panic… _

But all those gods seem to be fervently not in his favour, because Kuroko starts to tremble. Izuki sees the fevered look in his eyes and knows what he’s thinking almost immediately - something along the lines of,  _ Kasamatsu has stepped back, now’s my chance. _

“Kuroko,  _ no _ !” he screams just as Kuroko releases the ball into the air.

Kasamatsu smirks triumphantly and jumps, even as the ball disappears. Izuki isn’t sure why he looks so self-assured, because no one can see the ball. But by the look on his face, it’s clear… he’s planning something.

The ball thuds against Kasamatsu’s raised hand and falls to the hardwood floor of the court.

Kuroko chokes, blue eyes dulling as he gasps for breath.

“I know we can’t win this game without crushing at least one of your weapons,” says Kasamatsu coolly. “I’m sorry, but I have to use whatever is at my disposal.”

“It’s fine,” Kuroko replies, voice quiet and hopeless despite his seemingly encouraged words _ .  _ “I guess I had to be taken down a peg.”

Kasamatsu raises an eyebrow. “Huh. Guess you did, if you think so too.”

Izuki wants nothing more than to stare in confusion at the dejected and glum Kuroko, who’s spitting out words that make no sense with his expression, but he pulls himself together. Now is not the time to be contemplating things like a simpering idiot; he has to be on damage control.

The Phantom Shot is now effectively useless. Seirin’s other weapons are all going full force against defending Kaijō; Kagami’s being double-teamed; there’s no way out.

Izuki feels himself start to overheat with trace amounts of panic. His heart thuds against his ribcage, and all his old fears - fears he hasn’t had since the early days at Seirin - rise once more, for reasons he can’t comprehend.

_ This is your fault. If you’d been a better captain, a better point guard, a better everything, none of this would’ve happened. Seirin would have been well in the lead and controlling the game— _

Izuki shakes his head violently, trying to get rid of his intrusive thoughts. He knows he’s a good captain, and doing this to himself will do no good for the rest of the team. He has to be strong for them. He has to lead them to victory, he can’t be a weak person overwhelmed by emotion. But it’s so  _ hard  _ to breathe, suddenly, and Izuki’s about to sink when—

“Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll take care of this match today,” says a confident and familiar voice, and a hand claps down on Izuki’s shoulder. He turns, a little surprised by the sudden contact, to find Koganei’s cat mouth set in a determined frown. “You can rest your hopes on me. I’ll be Seirin’s wings for as long as you need me to.”

Izuki’s mouth opens slightly. _God_, he’s an idiot.

Who said that Koganei hasn’t grown enough to take on the offence for today? If Izuki himself could flourish so much in two simple years, who said that Koganei couldn’t? It is then that he realises how much Koga’s matured; despite his lack of experience, he’s willing to give his everything. Even death wouldn’t be able to stop him now.

Izuki has no words for the warm feeling that rises up inside him then, looking at this committed, resolved teammate of his who understands so well what he needs, what the  _ team _ needs. Koganei has truly realised the meaning of “take one for the team” - or in this case, “take it all on for the team”.

“I appreciate that sentiment,” Izuki says, unable to help smiling despite the strain he feels. “But if you need us, don’t be afraid to holler. Wings need a body to attach to, after all.”

Koganei grins. “Of course!” He flashes Izuki a thumbs-up, and then he’s off, bounding across the court once more. Izuki watches him with a fond smile, feeling as if he’s just been saved from taking a headlong dive off the cliff of anxiety, then goes to his own place, readying himself for what is to come.

_ Koganei Shinji, today I’ll rely on you as a friend, a captain, and most importantly, as a teammate. Thank you for pulling me back from the edge. _

* * *

True to his word, Koganei remains the picture of calm as he takes the lead in regard to attacks. Izuki is happy to let him spearhead the offence, slipping back into his pre-Seirin days when he used to slide into the background and form the foundation for his team. It’s a little hard considering Izuki’s used to standing out now and that he knows his skill, but he takes on the familiar role after overcoming the initial difficulty.

Koganei delivers fantastically, taking shot after shot after shot and scoring on each one. Izuki sets up the court with delight, trying formations that he’s always wanted to put into action but never has because he didn’t know if Koga could do it.

Well, here is the proof to eradicate all his doubts.

Moriyama is no weakling, though, and he takes on the same role for his own team. A few words to his teammates and Kaijō starts to function as a single unit, just as much in tune with one another as Seirin is. The two teams rage against each other like beasts, playing at speeds that would wear any ordinary players out. But neither team consists of ordinary players at the moment; no, each individual is no longer an individual but a fully functioning part of the well-oiled machines that their teams are. It isn’t Izuki vs. Kasamatsu, Koganei vs. Moriyama, or Kiyoshi vs. Kobori.

It’s Seirin vs. Kaijō.

But at last, at long last, Kaijō begins to tire. Their double-team on Kagami is beginning to crack; Kagami has started to chafe at his marks like a lion chewing at its bonds, relentless and tenacious. Kaijō simply  _ cannot keep up  _ with his ferocity, awakened from the very second that Kuroko’s Phantom Shot failed.

And finally, gloriously, he breaks free of them, shattering the invisible wall that has held Seirin back for so long. Koga’s groundwork in cracking that wall is invaluable, and Kagami smashing that barrier was the last blow Seirin needed to deal the struggling Kaijō.

All they need to do now is  _ win _ .

Izuki ignores Kise, sitting on the bench with urgency in his eyes, and continues to keep up his pace. Hard and fast is how he likes it, and how Seirin needs it right now. Kaijō’s splintering at the edges, and the best way to bring them down in one fell swoop is to strike  _ now _ , when they’re gasping for air.

So Seirin starts to play at their two hundred percent, borrowing the idea of a double-ace strategy from Yōsen with Koganei and Kagami. It’s like fighting with a whole arsenal - two well-honed axes in the forms of their shooting guard and power forward, two poisoned knives in the form of Izuki and Kuroko, and Mitobe as a strong shield. Seirin may as well be invincible, because their relentless assault is too much for anything to handle.

_ We need to get a large lead that Kaijō can’t catch up to even with Kise’s two minutes of Perfect Copy. And even during Perfect Copy, we need to do our best to stall… that talent of his is insanely amazing, we can’t trust even a hundred-point gap to be enough to win. _

_ At least twenty points. We have to be ahead by at least twenty points. _

Izuki knows realistically that twenty is a practically infeasible lead against a national-level team like Kaijō. But he also knows that in basketball, the target you set is rarely the target you hit. You’ll have to give leeway for at least five points.

“We have to get at least twenty ahead. Kise’s Perfect Copy is dangerous, and I don’t think even a hundred points would be enough to stop it. We don’t know when they’ll put him in, so I suggest we pull ahead now!” he tells the team sternly. They all nod, laser focus in their eyes. A focus that seems almost Zone-like, yet not.

The Zone is a state of absolute focus, one that doesn’t let you factor in anything else. Izuki almost thinks this is better, because this focus is one that allows you to play with your team. One that allows you to work as a single unit, without stopping or tiring.

There are three minutes left in the third quarter. Izuki intends to make full use of them.

Their assault is merciless. Izuki has never played so well in his entire life - he’s ducking and dodging one minute, circumventing three players the next. He allows his body to take control of his movements, barely aware of what he’s doing until he does it. He runs rings around his opponents, as do the rest of his team.

He almost wants to scream when the whistle blows for the end of the quarter. But then he looks at the scoreboard and freezes.

62 - 69. A 7-point lead  _ in three minutes _ .

His team is truly something else when they get fired up.

* * *

“We’ll have Kiyoshi back on court this quarter,” Riko says first thing when they get to the bench. “Teppei?”

It makes sense. In the last quarter, they need to go all-out on offence. Kiyoshi is an offensive center, far better at attacking than defending (though he is no slouch at that, either). Mitobe’s played his part above and beyond what is expected out of him, and Izuki couldn’t be happier.

Kiyoshi nods. “I’ll do it! Thanks for taking up the role, Mitobe.”

Mitobe nods, a gracious smile on his face. Though it isn’t really needed, Koga is quick to translate, “He’s saying that you’re welcome!”

“Now, we need a lead of at least fifteen points, so keep up the momentum,” Riko advises. “What do you think, Izuki-kun?”

“I set the goal at twenty. I don’t trust that even a hundred points will be enough to keep Kise at bay, but we have to get the largest lead that we can,” Izuki says quickly. “With the way we’re working right now, I think we can definitely get at least seventeen to eighteen points ahead. We have to keep that monstrous Perfect Copy at bay, too.”

Riko nods shortly, smiling. “Good. You’re making the right decisions; I don’t have anything to add on to that,  _ Captain _ .”

Izuki doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he just turns away and scratches the back of his neck to hide the brilliant flush on his cheeks.

Before they head back onto the court, Riko stops him with a hand on his arm. She looks up into his eyes, brown connecting deeply with black, and says softly, “Izuki-kun, you are so different from the diffident guy I was acquainted with in the early days. You’re a strong and firm captain now; a real leader has arisen from that pun master who doubted himself so much. Have faith in yourself - you’ve grown into the best captain that this team could have.”

Dear God. She always knows just what to say to make him lose his train of thought completely. So much so that he even forgets to respond to her calling him a ‘pun master’. Izuki blushes hotly, cheeks glowing redder than a traffic light.

“I… thanks,” he says, averting his gaze from those eyes that seem to look into his soul.

Riko just nods, smoothing down her skirt as she sits on the bench once more. “Of course, idiot. Now get out there and let’s win!”

Izuki complies instantly, jogging out onto the court with renewed confidence. His split second of doubt, back when the Phantom Shot was stopped… she’d seen that, and she’d immediately known what he’d felt. She’d known how to convince him he was good enough.

She managed to convince him because she truly  _ believed  _ he was good enough.

It feels like shackles dropping off Izuki’s wrists. Back in middle school, he had always been Hyūga’s pun-making, carefree friend and nothing more, and if he’s being completely honest, it hurt a little.

But now, he’s  _ hers _ , one of the players she considers her own family. One of the players who has made her proud…

It means so much more than Izuki can ever say out loud.

With a smile on his face, he assumes position once more, dropping into the state of focus he possessed earlier in the match.

It’s time to cement their win.

* * *

Kaijō is nothing if not made of steel, and steel never bends easily. The half-minute break seems to have brought them new fire, and they fight back with vigour, pulling up to 67. However, Seirin’s strength is still miles beyond their grasp, and despite it taking some time, they claw up to 79, twelve points ahead. They continue to play like that, hard and fast, and the next eight points fall into their laps like fruits from an overburdened tree.

87 - 67, in favour of Seirin.

Izuki chances a look at Kasamatsu and sees the hopeless look in his eyes. He hates himself for being the one to put it there.

“Come on,” he hears Kasamatsu urge his beaten-down team. “Let’s do this. As long as the final buzzer hasn’t rung, the game isn’t over yet. We have five minutes left on the clock - so let’s use them!”

And maybe he sounds cheerful and hopeful, but Izuki has been where he is right now. Izuki’s been the captain who sees no light but does his best to encourage his team because if they give up now, there’s no coming back. He hears the strain and stress in Kasamatsu’s voice, the voice that is so close to snapping like a string that’s too tightly wound.

“The game’s not over yet, guys,” Izuki reminds his own team, feeling suddenly wary. “We have to do our very best until the end. Especially since they still have Kise in reserve; we can’t afford to relax.”

“Of course we won’t!” Kagami is quick to reply. “We’ll keep pushing as hard as we can.”

“To the end of this match!” Koganei puts in. “I said that I’d take care of the team, so I will!”

“Let’s go have fun,” Kiyoshi says with a cheerful smile.

And Seirin disperses back onto the court, taking their positions. There are four minutes left on the clock—

“Kaijō High, substitution!”

Dread chills Izuki’s blood as he looks over to Kaijō’s side of the court, where Kise stands on trembling legs. Yet Izuki has never seen more strength in anyone’s eyes, and it more than makes up for the legs that are barely able to carry Kise any further.

Nakamura looks alarmed, but he makes his way off the court nevertheless, squeezing Kise’s hand tightly as he does so. It looks an awful lot like he’s passing on the baton, and Izuki winces at the air of gloom around Kaijō.

But then -  _ then _ , Kise walks onto the court in all his glory, glowing with the power of Perfect Copy, and barks out to his team, “The game’s not over yet! We can still make a comeback - as your ace, I’ll carry your hopes!”

Izuki grits his teeth, realising there’s no room for pity. This is the basketball court - it’s no place to stand there and feel bad for your opponents. It’s almost like a war zone.

And in a war zone, only the best of soldiers come out on top.

So, for the first time this match, Izuki puts ‘Shun’ away and brings out ‘Seirin’s captain’. He breathes out, imagining every emotion fluttering away on that breath out of his body, save for the drive to win.

That’s the only thing he and Seirin need right now.

* * *

Kise is everything Izuki expected, and at the same time nothing that he could have fathomed. He’s an absolute monster on the court, dodging and ducking and combining impossible talent with unbelievable willpower to produce something that’s almost magical to watch.

Izuki guards Kasamatsu tightly, forcing him back as he observes Kise do the same to Kagami, who falls before the combined strength of the Emperor Eye and Aomine’s speed, even as Kise dunks over Kiyoshi with unimaginable power.

_ I have to do what I can.  _ ** _We_ ** _ have to do what we can. _

He ignores the crowds screaming for Kaijō, ignores the fact that they all think Seirin is the ‘villain’ in this situation, and does what he does best.

He calms his raging mind and observes the court.

Kagami is quick to counter Kise’s attack, taking an Ignite Pass from Kuroko and going to dunk. But impossibly,  _ Kise is faster _ .

He blocks Kagami’s shot by combining Murasakibara’s height with Aomine’s agility, stalling Kagami in his tracks.

Izuki wants to stand there and stare forever, but he can’t. He shakes himself out of his stunned daze and moves up the court quickly to stop Kaijō’s counterattack.

At this rate, even a lead of thirty points won’t be enough. He was right about Kise’s Perfect Copy being a monstrosity, so he can assume that he’s also right about having to lock Kise down. As long as they can keep their lead - because they cannot defend Kise as well as attack - they can win. The team that leads even by a single point is the team that wins.

And that team  _ has _ to be Seirin.

Izuki guards Moriyama, defending him tightly. The others do the same for their opponents; Kagami and Kise face off against each other, both baying for blood. Kagami, however, is clearly the weaker one in this match-up - he’s panting, his eyes are dull, and he isn’t playing with the same intensity as Kise.

_ He’s so caught up in not making a mistake that he’s all stiff,  _ Izuki realises.  _ He’s got to cool down. A time-out after this play, then. _

Kasamatsu runs for a fast break, shaking his mark Kuroko free with the ease of a dog shaking off water. He dribbles up court fast and hard, passing to Moriyama, who tosses the ball in Kise’s direction.

Kise holds out a hand, winds spiralling around his wrist. Izuki’s heart jumps to his throat, and he chokes on realisation at the jarring familiarity of the move.

Kise digs the heel of his hand into the ball and puts his shoulder into the spiralling motion, sending the ball rocketing towards Kasamatsu, all the way on the other end of the court. The ball streaks towards Kasamatsu, unstoppable by even Kagami, blowing past everyone and everything and leaving an electric-blue trail in its wake.

Kasamatsu catches the ball and dunks powerfully. The whistle blows for Kaijō’s point.

71 - 87.

_ How…  _ Izuki almost starts to wonder, but he catches himself quickly.  _ No! We don’t have time to think about that now! _

He pulls himself together and signals to Riko for a time-out.

* * *

“I have bad news for you boys,” Riko says grimly when they crowd around the bench. “It looks like Kise-kun’s Perfect Copy will last for the rest of the game.”

Izuki suspected as much, but the confirmation only serves to cement the leaden weight in his stomach.

“Great,” he says sarcastically, the effort needed to create the biting tone detracting from his worry. “What do you think we should do?”

“Honestly?” Riko heaves a sigh, looking at her hands. “I don’t know.”

“You what?” asks Kiyoshi in a surprised tone. “Wh - Riko!”

“It’s true!” Riko snaps in an anguished voice. “I don’t know what you should do. But… I do know this.”

Izuki gives her a questioning look. “Go on…”

Riko releases a breath. “Trust your instincts. Play however you want to. Give everything to stop them in their tracks… rely on every skill you’ve learned in all your time playing basketball. Do everything you can, and don’t worry about the results. I can’t do anything anymore… it’s all up to you guys now.”

Izuki’s chest aches at her admission of being helpless. He knows exactly how that feels, after undergoing defeat upon defeat in his years of middle school. He knows how much it hurts to know that you can’t do anything about a situation you care so much about.

But he also knows that the only thing to do in that position is to place faith in your team.

“Coach is right,” he says, voice surprisingly steady despite the immense pressure he’s under. “We have to stay calm and do whatever we can. Give everything we’ve got, push ourselves to the very limit and even further than that. It’s the only way to stop Kise and Kaijō… the only way for us to achieve our dreams.”

Kiyoshi’s eyes are misty, and he swallows visibly. “Shun, you… do you think… we can…”

“I don’t know,” Izuki says with a sigh almost as heavy as Riko’s own. “But I do think that the man who pushes himself beyond his limits is the only one who can reach his goal. Literally,” he adds, giving Kagami a pointed look. “We have to go further than we think we can just to reach the hoop. So I suggest we leave all our limits and barriers here at this very bench, go out there, and squeeze every last drop we’ve got into this game. Coach will take care of our inhibitions for us, won’t you, Coach?”

“I’ll make sure to toss them in the garbage disposal,” Riko answers in her usual snarky tone, except this time there’s no humour in her eyes, just a quiet gratitude. Izuki gives her a gentle and genuine smile in return, and a moment of understanding passes between captain and coach.

Just then, the bell rings for Seirin to get on the court.

“Right, idiots. Let’s haul ass back on there, and let’s play our very best!” Izuki addresses the team, smiling as he leads them back onto the hardwood floor. The wood itself seems to hum under his feet, filling him with new energy, responding to his footsteps with a sympathetic touch.

_ Whatever happens… I can gladly say that I gave everything I have. We can say we did everything we could. _

* * *

The pep talk has pulled Seirin back up, but clearly not enough. They’re still struggling to keep their heads above water, while Kise and Kaijō play with almost mocking ease. Kaijō, by the miracle of all miracles (nice one!), even manages to almost draw level with Seirin _ ,  _ bringing the score to 88 - 89.

The sole comfort Izuki finds is that the crowds are cheering loudly for Kaijō - because it pisses him off more than anything, and that anger can be weaponized and put to good use.

* * *

Kagami is still having a tough time against Kise. Despite the fact that he’s slowly pulling himself together, Kise is still slipping past him with ease.

But he’s getting there, Izuki realises with a burst of new hope in his chest. He’s getting there - it’s evident from the way he picks himself up after Kise breaks past him, evident from the way he jumps, birthing strength from his desperation, to knock the ball out of Kise’s hands.

That strength, however, turns out to be his undoing.

Because Kagami, with all his momentum, loses balance in the midst of his desperate jump, falling powerfully on top of Kise, who himself crashes to the floor.

“Pushing, white #10!” shouts the referee, and Izuki’s chest tightens with the missed opportunity. “Basket counts, two free throws!”

“Sorry,” Kagami mutters sincerely as he and Kise rise from the ground. Kise appraises him for a minute, saying nothing.

Then Kagami, pulling himself up to his full height of six foot three inches, looks Kise straight in the eye and declares, “I don’t care what the crowd thinks of Seirin, heels or whatever it is. The only time we could be fated to lose is in a fictional story!”

The familiar fire returns to his eyes as he finishes, “This is our drama! We decide what the plot will be!”

Kise looks at Kagami with new respect, and Izuki himself is stunned... for the vast duration of two seconds.

Then, unable to control himself, he walks over to Kagami, struggling to keep a straight face as he places a hand on his junior’s shoulder and begins, “Kagami…”

Kagami turns, complete innocence in those red eyes of his. “Yes, senpai?”

That’s when Izuki loses it. Dissolving into giggles and placing a hand on his stomach, he hangs onto Kagami’s shoulder for support, cackling, “This is our drama! This is our drama!”

“You don’t have to repeat it!” Kagami looks supremely annoyed. Izuki just wipes tears from the corners of his eyes and continues to laugh.

Kuroko goes on to insult, “How could you say something so shitty, Kagami-kun? Whose mouth was it that just said that shitty line?”

Kagami screeches, “Shut up!”

“Wow, Kagami!” Kiyoshi says with an air of genuine surprise. Izuki, however, knows he’s faking by the sly look in his eyes. “I didn’t know you could write for dramas. That’s awesome!”

Kagami grumbles under his breath, “You stay quiet, Kiyoshi-senpai.”

Koganei snickers, “I cannot believe how corny that was. Kagami… you’re really  _ Baka _ gami, huh?”

“You’re one to talk,” Izuki reprimands gently, seeing that Kagami is starting to get flustered for real. Kagami shoots him a grateful look for that, and Izuki simply shakes his head in an ‘it’s fine’ gesture.

“I just mean that we shouldn’t be affected by what others think or say,” Kagami hurriedly explains, still mildly red-faced from embarrassment. “We can—”

“We know all that,” interjects Izuki impatiently. “So let’s get back out there and play our best, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Kagami agrees enthusiastically, seemingly relieved that he doesn't have to give his pep talk in his entirety. Izuki settles for thumping his back a little harder than he should and a bright smile.

“Let’s go have some fun!” he says, borrowing his best friend’s dialogue. Kiyoshi wilts a little.

“Shun, that’s my line…”

“Sorry, Teppei. You can say it next time,” Izuki offers, and doesn’t wait for a reply, instead going quickly to his place.

First, Kise must take the two free throws, and he does, netting them with ease. This draws Kaijō one point ahead of Seirin, but Seirin is in no way giving them this match.

Instead, they quickly set up their full court man-to-man defence, with Kuroko taking on Hayakawa, Kiyoshi against Kobori, Koganei versus Moriyama, Izuki on Kasamatsu, and finally, the match-up they’ve been waiting on for the whole game.

Kagami versus Kise.

Both aces face each other with nothing but absolute intensity in their eyes, calm and controlled, yet bursting out of their skin with power and pride. Kagami and Kise are equally matched; though Kagami isn’t in the Zone, his eyes are focused and steady, and like earlier, Izuki has the sense that this might just be better.

The ball is back in play once more, held tightly in Kasamatsu’s grip. However, some tricky footwork with the help of the Eagle Eye allows Izuki to steal it, and he immediately passes to Kagami.

_ Ace… I’m going to trust in you! _

Moriyama takes a step back as Koganei advances forwards, caging him in. Koga’s eyes are intent on Kagami, watching the ball carefully.

Kagami dribbles slowly, seemingly calculating every possible move. He shifts his weight forward, apparently attempting a drive, and that’s what Kise seems to think too because he moves forward quickly to stop him.

But Kagami’s got them all fooled - for he doesn’t drive, and neither does he shoot.

Instead, he passes: passes to Koganei, who immediately employs his Barrier Jumper, taking a quick step back that baffles Moriyama and shooting. The ball flies straight into the basket, giving Seirin three glorious points to bring the score to 92 - 90.

“You two!” Izuki cries, unable to believe how Kagami and Koganei’s coordination is so perfect without even communicating. Koga and Kagami high-five each other, sporting wide, silly grins.

“We talked this over before the match!” Kagami says, practically vibrating with excitement. “We thought that if we work in sync—”

“Both of us are big-time scorers, so they won’t know who to depend on,” Koganei chimes in, looking equally proud of himself. “I’m really happy with the way it’s come out. I can’t believe myself!”

“I can,” Izuki says and means it. It’s amazing to see how much Koganei has grown in such a short time.

“I doubt that it’ll work again versus Kise,” Kagami says thoughtfully.

“But it’s a good way to shake them a little bit,” Koganei adds. “We can definitely try changing up our combo - I feel like I’m really connecting with you, Kagami. I want to try different stuff!”

“Yeah, definitely,” Kagami says warmly. “We’ll try playing with it a little bit. Two minutes to go, right? Even if we don’t score—”

“—we can still keep them at bay,” Izuki ends, smiling. “Nice combination, though in the future,  _ warn  _ me, okay? You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“That was… kind of the point,” Kagami says, grinning mischievously.

“...Surprise?” Koga laughs.

Izuki rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. I swear, I hate you. You’re all gremlins.”

“Gremlins that you’re proud of!” calls Koganei to Izuki’s retreating back.

He’s not wrong. Not that Izuki’s ever admitting that.

* * *

True to their word, Kagami and Koganei end up monkeying around for a full minute and a half. Kise manages to stop most of their shots, but they do succeed in keeping him away from the ball and stalling for time. However, Kaijō does get in one shot edgewise - 92-all - drawing both teams level with each other.

Neither Seirin nor Kaijō has the strength to take this to overtime. Izuki’s about to collapse, Kagami is running on the last dregs of fuel, and Kise’s legs could give out any second. Though without Kise Seirin is slightly better than Kaijō, neither team will survive overtime without falling unconscious on the court.

“Come on,” Izuki rasps in a hoarse whisper. “Let’s win this game. We  _ have _ to.”

“Yeah,” Kiyoshi replies, knowing that Izuki’s words are directed at him and him alone. “I know. We can do this, Shun.”

“We  _ have _ to do this, Teppei,” says Izuki tersely. “And I think… I think we should leave it to him.”

He nods at Koganei, whose eyes are intense as he stares at the Kaijō team. He seems to be vowing something under his breath, and furrows his brows in immense concentration.

_ So this is how it’s gonna end, huh? Well, Koga, it’s your time to shine. _

Izuki narrows his eyes, trying to work out the best style to support Koganei. It has to be fast, furious, and above all ahead of Kise.

“Run-and-gun,” he speaks out loud, staring at the court. “We can use that. Come on, guys, let’s go!”

And picking up the ball, he starts to break down the court, Seirin following. Izuki passes to Kiyoshi, whom Kise is quick to guard, and even quicker to steal the ball from.

But that was the plan all along.

With a smirk, Izuki jabs his arm backwards before Kasamatsu can complete his warning shout, tipping the ball out of Kise’s hands and onto the court. Kise looks shocked, but recovers instantly, copying Aomine as he darts forward to take back the ball before anyone else can get it.

Shock washes over Izuki at his intense speed and agility, but he grounds himself quickly, calling out, “Come on, guys! We have to stop that shot!”

Kagami and Koganei jump together, placing their hands against the ball and pushing. But Kise, channeling Murasakibara, is too strong for them, and he dunks powerfully into the basket.

Five seconds to go - and Kaijō’s ahead by a whole point. They’re already celebrating, smiles on their faces as they watch the clock tick.

_ 4… 3… _

However, Izuki doesn’t feel the wave of panic that he’s supposed to. He doesn’t feel detached, remote, or useless.

Instead, his body moves almost without his consent as he screams, “ _ Go for it _ !” and starts running down the court. Koganei is way ahead of him, having made it as far as the centre line while Kaijō celebrated their supposed victory.

Kagami, who was quick to snatch up the ball after Kise’s dunk, passes, and Izuki catches the ball as he runs. Kasamatsu is on his heels, as is Kise, but today, Izuki Shun is fuelled by something that even miracles can’t catch up to.

Koganei stops just beyond the three-point line and waits with open arms. With his heart in his mouth and the clock ticking down to the last second, Izuki passes.

The ball leaves Koganei’s hands, flying in a perfect arc towards the basket as the milliseconds wind down.

The buzzer rings.

The ball falls through the hoop without so much as touching the rim.

There’s silence for a split second. And then the referee roars, “95 - 94 _ , Seirin High wins _ !”

* * *

The boy rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans as he strolls casually out of the stadium, every now and then sneaking a peek at the team in white, red, and black who are celebrating loudly behind him. Unlike the last time, he doesn’t wish he could be with them - it’s a startlingly new emotion, but one that makes him feel at peace with himself for the first time in a long time.

He isn’t angry at himself for not being there for them, not one bit. Instead, he just feels overwhelming pride in the whole team, especially Koganei and Izuki, who have both flourished in ways they never would have had he been around. He just feels immensely  _ happy _ for them, like a proud father watching his children grow up.

Or maybe like a deadbeat dad watching his kids grow without him, but semantics.

Basketball will always be an enormous part of him; it’s in his blood. He’ll never be able to detach completely from it. But the path he’s taken means that playing it again is still a long way off, and though he’s spent so long hating himself for it, now… now he recognises that his decision was the right decision. Maybe not the one he should have taken, but it’s the one that led him to the present time.

And isn’t that always the best place to be?

With an old song in his heart, one he hasn’t heard since the early days of clumsy shooting with his best friend and pretending they were NBA players, he starts skipping along the pavement, not caring how ridiculous it looks for a seventeen-year-old high-school boy to be hopping around like a little child.

He’s happy, finally, truly happy without a sting of regret or desire, and you bet your ass that he’s going to show it to the rest of the world.

* * *

Izuki observes the rest of his team with precise care as they walk towards the train station, having noticed something…  _ different _ about them. They’re quiet and contemplative - which in itself is a surprise - but that’s not it. No, there’s something else, something he’s not able to put his finger on.

It doesn’t worry him, though. This feels more like a good thing - something that was meant to happen, like they’ve finally broken through an invisible glass wall that was holding them back from their full potential.

Furihata turns back and calls, “Senpai, come on!”

With a start, Izuki realises he’s fallen well behind in his thoughtfulness. He smiles to himself and hurries to catch up, putting the thought out of his head. If his instinct is right, which it usually is, then they’ll be fine.

The ride back to Nakano, where Izuki’s and Kiyoshi’s homes are, is silent. The team has decided to crash there for the night, seeing as it’s late and that’s the closest neighbourhood. Kiyoshi, having elderly grandparents and a smaller house, will take Mitobe, Fukuda, Kawahara, and Tsuchida - the silent ones. Izuki’s stuck with the others - though Kagami is comparatively easy to handle, the rest? Not so much. (Read: they’re all brats who know exactly how to make Izuki’s life hell.)

Izuki’s house is a little larger, given that they used to have three extra family members. Now that his father’s run off and his grandparents are dead, he has a modest-sized room to himself; while a tight fit, it can probably house four other teenage boys. Riko’s all too ready to share with Aya and Mai, and Izuki dreads the exchanges between them. He lets Riko go with a stern warning, “If you turn my baby sister into a cruel thing like you…”

Riko just gives him an angelic smile and a peace sign, not committing to anything verbally. As she and Aya converse, Izuki can already tell that something horrific is going to happen.

He sighs, turning over on the floor and closing his eyes. Koganei’s snoring makes it horrifically difficult to sleep, and he’s also next to Kagami, who did I mention is a thrasher? His gigantic limbs, constantly beating about, have hit Izuki more than once. That kick to the face still smarts; Izuki’s sure it’s going to leave a bruise.

He  _ does _ eventually drift off - by picking up his futon, laying it in front of his door, and covering his head with his pillow. Next time, he doesn’t care how much it costs, he’s going to book these idiots a hotel; five people in one room is just  _ too much _ .

* * *

The next morning, Izuki is the first to wake up; even Kuroko, early riser that he is, has been utterly washed out by yesterday’s game and is fast asleep, chest rising and falling softly.

He stretches, picking up the clothes that he’d had the foresight to lay out the previous night and stepping quietly out of the room. He changes in the bathroom, moving as slowly and silently as possible, and rubs his hands together in an attempt to warm them against the biting winter cold.

Then he steps out of the house, locking the door behind him, and starts walking.

It’s a thing Izuki often does in the aftermath of something big - he allows himself to think about it, come to terms with the way he feels, and then let it go in the best way possible. It’s a good way to stay at peace with yourself: never too arrogant, never too humble, just the right in-between.

As he walks, he hears the sounds of basketball and smiles to himself, some excitement igniting in his heart. He stops, heading towards the streetball court - maybe they’ll let him join in, he thinks, though his body is groaning in protest at the mere thought.

Two young boys are playing basketball, one tall with spiky brown hair and glasses, and the other a little shorter with straight dark bangs. Izuki’s lips part slightly at the resemblance, and a smile breaks onto his face as he keeps watching them.

The spectacles kid is a shooter through and through. When the darker-haired one isn’t able to get the ball from him, he’s scoring threes right and left. And the smaller kid is absolutely a point guard - his eyes scan the court quickly, and he takes advantage of every hole in his friend’s defence, often much faster at laying it in. Izuki tallies the points in his head; the kids are neck and neck.

“Nice job,” says the darker-haired boy, flopping down onto the court when he gets too tired to play any further. His friend, being one point ahead, is the de facto winner, and he too drops onto the court, grabbing a water bottle with a basketball keychain on it and taking a large swig.

“You too,” he says, passing the bottle to the darker-haired kid. “Wanna go again?”

The boy grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You bet!” he says challengingly.

Izuki can’t help smiling at them as he watches, gripping the metal grills tightly and looking on as they play. Eventually, his hands start to go purple from the cold, and he releases the grills, rubbing his fingers together to warm them up again.

He checks his phone - six-thirty a.m. - and realises it’s been half an hour since he left the house. Long enough for Aya to know he’s on one of his walks, but any longer and they’ll start to worry. He should head home.

As he peels himself away from the streetball court, he doesn’t notice something -  _ someone _ \- whom by all accounts he should’ve seen. Standing on the same side of the court as he had been, gripping the bars in much the same way he had done, staring intently at the boys through oval spectacles, with a small grin on his face. Neither boy sees the other, yet they share the same expression - a wistful smile, at once longing for what was before and looking towards what the future will bring.

Izuki walks home with a spring in his step, feeling happier than he has in a while. It feels like the last of the Hyūga-related baggage he’s been carrying with him, however subtle, has finally been unpacked. Izuki’s heart is lighter than it has been in two years, and he doesn’t know what to thank for it, so he settles for smiling up at the sky that gently drizzles morning rain on his face like it’s caressing his cheek.

Upon reaching his home, he unlocks the door quietly and enters the kitchen, searching for the can of fermented soybeans. Today he’ll reheat some  _ nattō _ \- though he isn’t the biggest fan of it, his team (and his family) will eat anything and everything in front of them. Izuki would rather not have them chewing on the walls of the house.

He quickly boils some rice and heats the  _ nattō _ , garnishing it and wincing a little at the strong smell. Hyūga loved  _ nattō  _ \- Izuki doesn’t know if he still does, but he feels okay not knowing.

It doesn’t matter to him anymore, not like it used to, and not in a bad way. It’s not that he doesn’t care; he’s just happy to hang on to the joy of the times he’d had with Hyūga and forget about the bitterness that had seeped in later on.

It sets his heart at peace, and that’s what matters.

Izuki hears Aya’s quick footsteps coming down the stairs and busies himself plating some food for her, shoving a spoon in it and placing it on the counter just as she walks in. She doesn’t even waste a second, grabbing the plate and shovelling a spoonful into her mouth at the speed of light.

“Morning,” she greets through the food. “Sleep well?” She’s all made up and ready for her day at college - though it’s a Saturday, they have some fest going on.

“Yeah,” Izuki answers, pretending to be disgusted by the way she eats and turning away with an over-the-top grimace. “Ew, stop being such a heathen.”

“Shut up,” Aya retorts through her last bite, swallowing quickly and washing it down with a few gulps of water. “Neither am I a boy, nor am I in the past tense.”

It takes Izuki almost a full second to get it, but when he does he bursts into laughter. “Nice one, Aneki.”

“What, no response?” she teases, grabbing her car keys.

“ _ He _ is inert, after all. No way to react to that,” Izuki puns quickly. “ _ Kitakore _ !”

“Nice, baby bro!” Aya calls, heading out of the house. “See you!”

“See you,” Izuki says after her, taking the plate she’s left on the counter and washing it clean, then drying it. The mundaneness of the tasks helps ground him a little; he’s had no time to help out lately, what with school and basketball and everything.

He stows away the food, putting it in a casserole so it stays hot and going back upstairs into his room. It’s well past seven now.

Time to kick the rest of his team awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IZURIKO BONDING IZURIKO BONDING  
comments make a blob happy~


	11. cliff edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11.09.20:  
look who remembered to update!! yayay!!! ahdhjsfdhj ngl this chapter made me cry even though it's just kinda... filler, ig? but like... thinking of what's to come AAAAA  
also repressed feels from last chapter hhhHHHHH kaijou boyssssss ;w;  
thank u all so much for ur lovely comments and support. idk what i'd do without u guys ilysm <3  
chapter song: [Phenomenon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kSX85vVxIlU) by Thousand Foot Krutch. it embodies getting ready for something, which is the spirit of this entire chapter! listen with both earbuds in for the full experience :D

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauties!” Izuki cries, throwing aside the curtains and allowing the wintry sunlight to stream into the room. Though weak, it’s still bright enough to make them all flinch, especially Furihata - who _ hates _ the sun. Izuki has to wonder if he’s secretly a vampire; he _ is _exceptionally talented at sucking the life out of his captain.

“Senpai, I _ hate _ you,” grumbles Kuroko, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he rises. His bedhead is atrocious as ever, and Izuki takes the opportunity to ruffle it further, eliciting an annoyed growl.

“Same goes for me,” Koganei moans. “You’re such a _ jerk_, Itzuki.”

“I’ve been told.” Izuki shrugs, unable to keep the smirk off his face. “Now get going, we have work to do!”

His teammates glare at him, but Izuki just smiles, clapping his hands. “Chop chop. I made breakfast, too… it’ll get cold if you wait any longer.”

Those are the magic words, apparently, because within seconds - _ seconds_, mind you - the five of them have brushed, changed, and combed their hair, ready for the day.

“Can we eat now?” Kagami asks hopefully. Izuki thanks his stars that he made the entire two cans, remembering the size of Kagami’s appetite.

“Yes,” he allows with resignation. “It’s in the big white casserole in the kitchen, please—”

But they’re already gone, hurtling downstairs at the speed of light.

“—use plates,” Izuki finishes with a heavy sigh, flopping down onto his chair. Ah, well. He’ll have to call Kiyoshi, tell them to get ready for the day. They have to draft schedules, watch Rakuzan’s matches…

A soft knocking on the door startles him, and he half stands up, sinking back into his seat when he sees it’s Riko. She’s in her uniform once more, having borrowed Aya’s ridiculously large nightclothes (Mai’s were too small, and his mother is even taller than his sister. Izuki feels both proud and ashamed to be the second shortest in the family).

“Morning,” she says, smiling. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” Izuki gestures to the room, immediately vacating his chair for her. “Yeah, yeah, take the chair.”

“Thanks,” Riko says gratefully, sinking down in the chair and smiling up at him. “So…”

“So?”

“We’re playing Rakuzan. The finals of the Winter Cup.” She looks down at her hands; stubby, dirty, with the nails bitten all the way down to their cuticles. The other girls have long, manicured fingers with polished and painted nails that look like claws. Riko’s hands are calloused from handling pads and pencils and basketballs all the time - much more practical, and much more honest.

“Yeah,” Izuki answers her, having no words to describe the situation. In all truthfulness, he _ never _ thought he - _ they _ \- would get this far. It wasn't even about his faith in his team; it was about his faith in himself, which was practically non-existent about two years ago.

Now, to his surprise, he just feels pride. No shock, no wonder. Just pride that he and his team have come this far, that they’ve done so well, that he’s grown so much and become a better person than he was before. Pride that fills him up and makes him want to fly.

“It’s almost like a dream,” Riko says, twisting her hands in her lap. “I wanted to know how you’re feeling about this whole thing. I know you still have those self-esteem issues—”

“I don’t,” Izuki interrupts. “I don’t. I… I don’t know how, but I got over it in the middle of the Kaijō match. When you… when you encouraged me, I guess? I’ve always wanted your approval, and, I don’t know, I felt like I’d made you proud.” He looks down, embarrassed at the way the words are just tumbling out of his mouth. “I’d always been Hyūga’s weird friend to you, but it just felt like I was more all of a sudden. Like you finally accepted me. And I know you did way back when we started the team, but I just had these dumb doubts? Because I always used to compare myself to Hyūga as a captain, and I guess I started comparing myself to him in this, too.”

Riko stares at him for a split second, mouth slightly open at his outburst.

And then she bursts into raucous laughter, clutching her stomach and kicking at the floor.

“Y - you’re an idiot!” she wheezes, thumping her thigh with her closed fist. “A real fucking idiot! Piece of work! Fool!”

“I know, I know,” Izuki says sheepishly, raising his hands to placate her. “It does sound horrifically stupid in hindsight.”

“In _ hindsight_? It sounds horrifically stupid no matter when!” Riko giggles, wiping at her eyes. “I can’t believe you thought you didn’t have my approval.”

“I didn’t think that,” Izuki explains, “it was just… there. Like a thing lurking in my brain. I knew logically that you did approve of me, I just… it’s hard to sort out my emotions, you know? I’m not the kind of person who sits around talking about their feelings; not that there’s anything wrong with that, but that’s just not me.”

Riko nods, sobering up a little. “I do know. And… I have to admit, I _ was _a little harsh on you in the early days… I kept comparing you to Hyūga-kun.” She looks at the ground briefly, then raises her head to continue, meeting Izuki’s eyes with no hint of doubt in her own brown irises. “But then I saw how different you were. How you were never willing to give up, even if you were the worst player in the world. That’s what… that’s what made me truly believe in you.” She swallows thickly, taking a deep breath, but not averting her gaze from his.

The honesty and trust in her eyes is what shatters Izuki’s calm.

He steps forward, and she rises too, opening her arms. Then he hugs her tightly, murmuring, “Thank you for having faith in me.”

The “Of course. You’re family,” that she whispers back fills Izuki’s already overflowing heart even further.

Eventually, he lets her go, and she drops lightly to the ground, straightening her sweater and skirt.

“We never speak of this,” Izuki warns her, moving towards the door of the room.

Riko nods, back to her usual haughty demeanour. “Of course. No one can know we’re actually big softies who care a lot for each other.”

“To them, we’re just sarcastic jerks,” Izuki agrees. “And that’s the way it stays.”

Riko hums and skips down the stairs; he follows, stomach starting to growl as he thinks about the steaming rice and fermented soybeans, despite not being the biggest fan of _ nattō_. He hasn’t eaten in over twelve hours, so he’ll take anything he can get—

Izuki stops short as he enters the kitchen, seeing the empty casserole in the sink and his five teammates happily patting their bellies.

_ What?! _

Riko’s face turns red, and she looks like she’s about to burst.

“Kagami…” she starts, tone dark and vicious. “_How much of that did you eat_?!”

Kagami rubs the back of his neck, having the decency to look sheepish and apologetic. “Sorry… I didn’t think.”

“Well, you better start doing that,” Izuki says in the same furious tone. He’s not half as irritated as he’s pretending to be, but he’s _ hungry,_ and the best revenge is to scare Kagami a little bit. “Otherwise, I’ll talk to Coach about giving you fifty laps around the court.”

“A hundred,” Riko corrects quickly. “And you get to buy water for everybody, each day before practice, at your own expense.”

“And you can do fifty push-ups after practice,” Izuki adds on. Kagami is starting to look green.

Riko delivers the killing blow with, “And you have to deal with _ all _the fans of the basketball club, including throwing away the confession letters and rejecting them gently.”

At this point, Kagami looks about ready to jump off a cliff. Izuki clutches his stomach as he bursts into laughter along with Riko, wheezing at the combination of horror and resignation on his underclassman’s face.

“I might have some bread, I’ll slap together a sandwich,” Izuki pants eventually, calming down from his fit of giggles.

“Make it quick, I’m hungry,” Riko moans, sinking down into a chair at the table.

“Yes, your Highness,” Izuki ribs gently, fishing out the bread and the remnants of the salad that Aya made last night. He stuffs some of the leftover chicken in between the slices and offers it to Riko, making a similar one for himself and shoving it into his mouth like he’s Kagami.

He’s _ hungry_, shut up. Besides, it’s not like Riko’s much better - she has crammed the entire thing into her mouth, and considering that it’s the size of her face, it’s certainly a feat.

“Danfs,” she mumbles through the sandwich, spraying crumbs everywhere.

“Sure,” Izuki replies, swallowing the last bite of his own and washing his hands. “Come on, let’s go crash Kiyoshi’s house.”

Riko looks very excited at the prospect, but then a loud knock sounds at the open door, and a tall boy walks in without so much as a “Pardon the intrusion”, followed by four others who at least mutter the phrase as they enter.

“Too late!” Kiyoshi says, wearing a grin. “We’re already here.”

Izuki groans, putting his head in his hands. “I _ hate _ you.”

“I love you too, Shun,” Kiyoshi says cheerfully. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you feed them. You have Kagami on your hands; that’s enough of a punishment.”

The last word of his sentence sticks firmly in Izuki’s mind, and he narrows his eyes suspiciously at Kiyoshi. “Was that a _ pun_, Teppei?”

Kiyoshi looks taken aback. “Was it?”

Izuki grins. “You know, _ pun _ishment. Since I—”

“Make so many puns!” Kiyoshi exclaims, his eyes lighting right up. “Nice, Izuki!”

“_ You _ made it, dumbass!”

“Boys! We don’t have time for this!” Riko says authoritatively. All eyes turn to her at once, locking onto her with focus replacing the relaxation on their faces. “We’ve got to be making our game plan, getting ready for what’s to come. I strongly suggest we start now! We have three days - let’s not waste a second of them!”

“Yes, Coach!” choruses Seirin.

Within minutes, they’re packed and ready to ride up to the gymnasium at school, to do some drills and plan for the games ahead. Izuki writes out a note for Aya, making sure to put it on the fridge where she can’t miss it, then locks the house and heads out behind his teammates.

He manages to get a window seat on the train and stares out of the window, feeling oddly at peace with himself. The queasy nervousness he’s come to expect before big games is gone, and in its place is a calm acceptance.

Izuki Shun is a member of one of the top two teams in Japanese high school basketball. He, along with his team, is about to play one of the most prominent names in boys’ basketball tomorrow - and more than anything, he feels _ ready _ for it.

Izuki looks around at the rest of Seirin and finally realises what it is he thought was different about them last night.

They all wear the same aura of calm assurance that he’s feeling - whether it be Koganei, eyes laser-focused on the video of Mibuchi Reo that he’s watching, or Kiyoshi, intently poring over Nebuya’s files that are scattered all over his lap, or Kuroko, conversing quietly with Riko about his usefulness against Rakuzan and Akashi. The slight nerves that Izuki’s always felt surrounding his team are gone, as if they’ve vanished into thin air.

And he knows why.

It’s because Seirin High now knows exactly how good they are. They know that they stand on equal footing with the monstrous kings of the game, and have finally gained the courage to look their opponents in the eye without so much as blinking. They’re confident but not arrogant; they know what they can do, they know their strengths and their weaknesses, and they know just how to use both.

Everything he’s put into this team, every drop of his blood and sweat and tears, every single bit of it - it’s being rewarded right now, in the shape of an eagle that has reared its head, sharpened its talons, and is ready to hit the skies once more.

Izuki couldn’t have asked for anything more.

“Time to go!” Riko yells, jumping off the train with a little _ too _much energy. Kiyoshi follows suit, wearing his big, silly grin and saying, “Let’s go have some fun!”

Izuki chuckles to himself, getting off after them and adding, “I’ll try to pack some good _ pun _ches today.”

They all groan at that; Izuki simply delights in their irritation, humming to himself and smiling guilelessly.

* * *

“There may be some things you want to know about Akashi-kun,” Kuroko says just before Riko pops in the tape of Rakuzan’s most recent match.

Kagami raises his eyebrows. “And you’re telling us this now?”

Kuroko shrugs. “It’s most relevant at this point in time, so…”

Kagami rolls his eyes and huffs, sitting down harshly on a desk. There’s no arguing with Kuroko’s placid and honest nature. Few can get a rise out of him; even Izuki struggles to do it.

“So, what’s this you have to tell us?” asks Koganei, bouncing in place. “You made it sound really mysterious, Kuroko!”

Kuroko rubs the back of his neck. “...Kagami-kun may have been right,” he admits, looking away with the Kuroko equivalent of sheepishness on his face. “I probably should have brought this up earlier. However, I didn’t want to scare you all.”

“I hope you know by now that we don’t scare easy,” Izuki says dryly. “Out with it, kiddo. What’s up with your psychotic ex-girlfriend?”

“Akashi-kun is not a girl, and there are two of him,” Kuroko replies, face blank and calm.

There’s silence for a full second. Seirin stares at Kuroko in mute shock, unable to come up with a reply for what he’s just revealed to them.

That’s when Kagami finishes choking silently.

“_WHAT_?!” he shouts. “You’re telling me he has a twin? A clone?”

“No,” Kuroko corrects patiently, “just a split personality.”

This time it’s Izuki who chokes, not from the idea itself - he’s suspected it for a while, having compared the old description of Akashi to the monster he has seen on the court - but from the nonchalance in Kuroko’s tone, as if it’s so normal for sixteen-year-olds to just go about developing schizophrenia.

“It’s hard to explain,” Kuroko sighs upon seeing the looks of mortification and horror on his team’s faces. “But I’ll give it a try. It all started with Aomine-kun, really…”

“Aomine?” Kagami asks, perking up immediately. (He thinks he’s being so subtle about his thing for the guy, but really, everyone _ apart _ from Aomine himself can see it.) “What about him?”

Kuroko heaves a breath. “This is going to be a long story. I mean, it _ does _ span three years. It’s the entire story of my days at Teikō - all of it.”

“Ah,” Izuki says carefully, pretending like he isn’t more curious than the curious cat in that one weird proverb. Granted, that cat did end up dead, but he’s sure Kuroko’s story won’t kill him.

Mostly sure. You never know with Kuroko.

“Go on, Kuroko,” says Tsuchida with an encouraging smile. “Let’s hear it.”

So Kuroko takes a deep breath, wipes his hands on his trousers, and begins his story of who are probably the most knuckleheaded, narrow-minded, blinking idiots of all time - the Generation of Hormonal Preteens.

“I started playing basketball after I watched a match on TV - though I was a weak child, I loved any manner of sports, and basketball seemed so fun,” he says with a soft smile. “I had a friend who taught me how to play: Ogiwara Shigehiro-kun. Ogiwara-kun and I were practically joined at the hip, and when we went to different middle schools, we promised to meet again in the finals of the national championships. Ogiwara-kun was a great basketball player, but his team wasn’t strong enough to hold up against other, better teams… so we only met in the finals of our third year.”

Kuroko’s face has dropped a little, but he continues, “I joined the Teikō basketball team and even made it onto the third string despite how weak I was. But there were four first-years, stunningly talented, that got into the first string without even trying.”

“Four?” interrupts Koganei. “Aren’t there five others of your Generation of Miracles?”

“Kise-kun joined us in the second year of middle school,” Kuroko explains.

“Ah,” Koga hums in understanding. “Sorry for interrupting. Go on.”

Kuroko smiles in response and continues, “As Koganei-senpai said, they were my old teammates: Aomine-kun, Midorima-kun, Murasakibara-kun, and Akashi-kun. Even then, before they blossomed into the unbeatable prodigies they are today, they were something else. Something special. _ Especially _ Aomine-kun. You must understand, at that point in time, Aomine-kun was much like Kagami-kun.”

Kagami perks up at that, taking it as a compliment; but Kuroko crushes his happiness with the next words, “A complete and utter basketball idiot.” Kagami whines softly, but is too riveted by the story to protest.

Kuroko goes on, “He loved the sport with everything he had. He was always searching for a new challenge, and was of the opinion that anyone who liked basketball couldn’t be bad at all. That’s how we met, actually… we used to practise together.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Kagami interrupts with a raised eyebrow. “You’re this terrible after practising with _ Aomine _ for, what, three years?”

Kuroko sighs. “Kagami-kun, will you please let me finish?”

“Okay, okay.” Kagami raises his hands, shaking his head. “Fine. Sorry.”

Kuroko nods and continues, “For Aomine-kun, nothing was enough. He’d practise and practise, play basketball against himself if he had to. He loved it so much that he couldn’t get enough of it, to the point that he decided to go and practise late at the third-stringers’ gym, which would always be empty. Aomine-kun never did like distractions.”

“This is starting to sound like one of those romance novels,” Izuki quips.

Kuroko gives him a blank stare and goes on, “Now, there were a lot of rumours about that gym, not least of which was that it was haunted. By a basketball-playing ghost.”

“Oooohhh,” Furihata chimes in, making a fake spooky face. “A ghost story!”

“Not when the ghost was real and went by the name of Kuroko Tetsuya,” interjects Kiyoshi. “Is that right, Kuroko?”

Kuroko smiles a little. “Even back then, before I discovered how to use my lack of presence in basketball, people skated right over me. I… put that to great effect in pranking my classmates when they got insufferable,” he admits with some embarrassment.

“So, was Aomine scared when he heard you but saw nothing?” asks Fukuda, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

Kuroko laughs softly. “As a matter of fact, yes! He completely freaked out; he thought that I was a ghost. Luckily, I managed to convince him otherwise, and he offered for me to play against him.”

“How did you do?” asks Kagami.

Kuroko pins him with a deadpan stare. “I beat Aomine-kun hollow.”

“_What_?!” Kagami howls. “But you suck at one-on-one!”

“That was _ sarcasm_, Kagami-kun,” Kuroko sighs. “Of course he was able to get past me with barely any effort. I know how terrible I am at one-on-one basketball, trust me.”

“So then what happened? You guys started practising together?” Izuki inquires. Kuroko affirms this with a little dip of his chin.

“Aomine-kun… though I was terrible, he liked how dedicated I was, to stay and practise much later than everyone else despite being the worst on the team. He offered to play with me every day after his own practice, and I gladly agreed, thinking that practising with one of Teikō’s rising stars could only do me good. I never thought that we would become so close.” His face drops a little at those last words, and suddenly Izuki feels the overwhelming urge to sock Aomine Daiki in the jaw for everything he’s done to Kuroko.

“Aomine-kun and I became the best of friends. Soon I could recite everything about him, and he knew everything about me. When I went to the store to buy vanilla milkshake, it became a reflex to pick up banana milk for Aomine-kun.”

“Wait, Aomine likes _ banana milk_?!” Izuki starts wheezing with laughter. “I’m sorry, but even you can’t miss the euphemism there!”

“I teased him about it for nearly the entire time we were friends. Brought it up in front of every single crush he had ever had,” Kuroko says, smirking. Then he sobers up and goes on, “Many weeks passed just like that. Us playing basketball, having fun… and then I was summoned by the coach of the third-string.”

“What for?!” exclaims Riko. “Was he about to promote you?”

Kuroko shakes his head, looking sadly at his shoes. “He asked me to leave the team.”

“What? Why?!” echo all of Seirin in confusion.

“I was getting progressively worse… or rather, the others were getting better, and I was making no headway. Though he appreciated my effort and my love for the sport, he also thought that it would be better if I left on my own rather than him having to kick me out. Less of a sting, he said.”

“Dick,” mutters Kagami under his breath. “Clearly, he doesn’t value the importance of having a Griffin on the team.” His phrasing elicits impressed stares from the rest of the team, and he blushes, mumbling, “I’m not that stupid. I had to do a book report on The Invisible Man in America.”

“Thank you, Kagami-kun,” Kuroko says with a small smile. “Your support is heartwarming.”

Kagami nods, still pink in the face.

Kuroko’s smile drops, and he continues, “That same day, I went to Aomine-kun a little later than we usually met. When I broke the news, he was more than angry - he was _ sad_. To him, I was the one who made basketball fun because I’d never give up against him… he hated that someone who tried so hard was being kicked off, and he offered to speak to the coach. He tried to encourage me not to give up, but I was too disheartened at that point.” He falls silent, staring at his hands. 

“And then?” Izuki prompts gently. “Obviously, you stayed on the team… you wouldn’t have become the Phantom Sixth Man otherwise. So what happened next?”

The soft smile returns to Kuroko’s face. “That’s when I met the rest of the first-stringers. Akashi-kun just strode right in, asking Aomine-kun if this was where he practised late every day. He didn’t even notice me until Aomine-kun did the introductions. Midorima-kun’s reaction was hilarious - he jumped three feet in the air.”

The rest of them choke down laughter imagining the uptight Midorima actually jumping for anything other than basketball.

“Akashi-kun saw something in me… he thought I would be a valuable asset to the first string and encouraged me to check out some books on sleight of hand and illusion.”

At this, the entire team pauses mid-breath.

Izuki is the first to speak again. “Your misdirection… is a _ magic trick_?!”

Kuroko looks slightly abashed, but he confirms it nevertheless. “Yes, technically. I did adapt it to fit my own lack of presence, but it’s essentially just a sleight of hand.”

“Wow. Okay. Using magic on the basketball court.” Riko shakes her head, laughing a little.

“Hey, can you pull a rabbit out of a hat?” asks Kiyoshi inquisitively.

Kuroko rubs the back of his neck. “I… well, yes, actually. Yes, I can do that.”

Izuki swallows his giggles by exercising every ounce of willpower in his body. “Th - then what?” he wheezes out through his immense effort not to laugh.

“Aomine-kun and Akashi-kun spoke to my coach. Persuaded him to put me in for one last game between the third and second strings that was to take place the next week; just enough time for me to perfect my new ability.

“And it worked. Though he was sceptical at first, my pass redirection skill - which was the first thing I learned - earned me a permanent spot on the team, and a promotion. Not just to the third string, nor to the second… they wanted me to be a member of the first string and actively participate in games with the Generation of Miracles. It was every dream I’d ever had come true - to play basketball with these skilled and powerful people, to learn and to grow and to have the time of my life playing the sport that I loved so much.

“In my first game, however, as I told Furihata-kun… I was so nervous that I tripped over my own feet and got a nosebleed.”

Furihata raises his eyebrows. “For real?”

“For real,” Kuroko confirms. Izuki mentally snickers at the thought of Kuroko tripping over his feet in the middle of a match like a newborn fawn trying to learn how to walk. “The coach subbed me out for Nijimura-senpai.”

“Nijimura?” asks Kagami. “Who’s that?”

“I’ll get to it,” Kuroko assures him. “Anyway, Nijimura-senpai was known as the best power forward in the middle school circuit; at least, until Aomine-kun arrived. He held up the fort with ease, and when I finally felt ready to get back in the game, his confidence had inspired me. With some encouragement from Akashi-kun—”

He is interrupted by Furihata, who asks, “Wait, _ Akashi _ encouraged you?”

Kuroko sighs impatiently. “_Yes_. He wasn’t always a psychopath with heterochromia. He used to be one of the kindest people I knew; though he was focused on victory, he also had room in his heart for friends, fun, and happiness. Anyway, I was able to put my new skill to full use, and we won the game. At that point, the others hadn’t blossomed fully, so victories were still actually victories - they had to try, at least a little bit.

“The worst thing about Teikō was Haizaki-kun. I’ve already told you about him, so I won’t go too far into detail, but he always took my milkshake.” Kuroko looks adorably cross at this, and Izuki has to stifle the urge to ruffle his hair. “He was rude, unmannerly, lazy, and a complete delinquent. He cared for basketball less than even Murasakibara-kun appeared to. He would use his status on the basketball team to get all kinds of things, including girls, free passes for misbehaviour, and so on. But things only really blew over towards the middle of our third year, so I’ll get to that when I do.

“Continuing with the story, Aomine-kun had this rivalry with a power forward of an opposing team. They would always compete against each other, and most of the time, the other kid won in a one-on-one, though Teikō always took the match.”

“Against_ Aomine_?” asks Riko with wide eyes.

Kuroko nods. “He had a lot more experience than Aomine-kun did at the time. Plus, Aomine-kun was slowly catching up. He always used to look forward to playing that guy… it was endearing to see him smiling just at the thought. At the national championships’ final, Aomine-kun defeated him for the first time, and they made a promise to play again next year to see who would win.

“My second year at Teikō rolled around pretty quickly, and I was soaring on a high, more than happy to just play basketball the way I wanted, with the people I wanted to.

“It was then that Kise-kun arrived - and with him, many things that I both loved and hated. He could copy anybody he wanted to, becoming the golden boy of Teikō quickly and easily. Name it and he could do it; baseball, soccer, chess… Kise-kun was more than just a jack of all trades, he was an _ ace _ of all of them. And he was mind-numbingly bored by every single one. But all of that changed when he got brained by a basketball thrown by our darling Aomine-kun.”

“You could say it _ brained _ common sense into him,” Izuki puts in, wearing a shit-eating grin. “_K__itakore_!”

Kuroko gives him a long-suffering look and continues, ignoring the pun, “Try as he might, Kise-kun was unable to copy Aomine-kun - or the rest of the ‘Generation of Miracles’, as a matter of fact. It pulled him headfirst into basketball; it was the first sport to which he gave everything he had.

“I was assigned to be Kise-kun’s mentor and ease him into the Teikō first string. Though sceptical at first, he quickly became attached to me for reasons that I don’t know and would prefer to keep that way. Soon enough, he surpassed my level and started to catch up to the rest of the first string.” Kuroko pauses for breath (or effect, Izuki isn’t sure which one), looking down at his hands in silence.

“Then what happened?” Tsuchida asks curiously.

Kuroko inhales. “Too much,” he says quietly. His voice is thick with emotion.

Izuki asks softly, “Do you need a break? Have some water… you can tell us everything later. There’s no rush.”

Kuroko shakes his head. “I’ll take you up on the water, but it’s better that I finish this now. I can’t do it all over again.”

Izuki nods in understanding, passing him the water bottle. Kuroko takes a long draught, steeling himself, then continues, “Haizaki-kun started to bully Kise-kun. Though they had similar abilities, Haizaki-kun was far more experienced, and Kise-kun always lost to him. Haizaki-kun was always spiteful and vengeful towards Kise-kun, going so far as to hurt him on purpose. Of course, this was all easily passed off as accidental, and Kise-kun would never breathe a word to us about it. Some idiotic notion about trying to be strong and earning his place on the team, I don’t know, but Kise-kun never allowed Haizaki-kun to break his spirit.

“In the middle of our second year, Nijimura-senpai stepped down as captain. His father was ill, and he had to fly to America to get him treated. It was then that Akashi-kun was nominated captain of the team… and then that things started to change, though I didn’t see it.”

“Wait…” Izuki starts slowly. “Your Nijimura-san nominated a _ second-year _as the captain?”

Kuroko hums. “Akashi-kun was one of the calmer and more mature people on the team. That, coupled with his immense talent as a point guard, made him the best choice for captain, not considering his age.”

“And then?” asks Koga. “If he was so kind and mature, how did… _ why _ did he change?”

“A lot of reasons. I’m getting to it in a few minutes, senpai,“ Kuroko replies. Then he goes on, “Akashi-kun asked Haizaki-kun to leave the team around this time, as his behaviour not only brought a bad name to Teikō, but was also a factor of discord among the team. Later, he confided in me that it was because he saw more potential in Kise-kun than he did in Haizaki-kun, and begged me not to disclose this to either one. It was the first and the last time that I ever saw Akashi-kun plead like that.” Kuroko exhales, face reflective as he relives the memory.

“It was around this time that Aomine-kun started to bloom. He blossomed faster and stronger than the rest, and other teams started to give up against him. No one wanted to challenge him because they knew they would lose. They started…” Kuroko takes a deep breath. “They started to call him a monster.”

“Why?” asks Kagami belligerently. “All he was doing was giving his full effort!”

Kuroko sighs. “Yes, but they couldn’t see that. There’s no sympathy for those who are too talented, is there?”

There’s silence at that as Seirin revises their entire image of Aomine Daiki. Izuki thought he was just an annoying and arrogant brat… but it’s no wonder Aomine crumbled and started to lose his passion for basketball. It’s no wonder that his catchphrase is, “The only one who can beat me is me,” _ because it’s true_.

Or was, until Kagami showed up.

Kuroko continues in a soft voice, “Soon it was time for the national championships. There, Aomine-kun met his friend, who started the game with a ready and eager face. I was so happy that day, seeing Aomine-kun playing basketball with a smile after months and months… but it wasn’t to last. Aomine-kun’s new talent was too much even for his friend to play against with a smile.

“When Aomine-kun went to dunk, he saw a sight that would forever cripple him. His friend, standing defeated in front of the hoop, murmuring to himself, ‘There’s no way I can win against you. You’re a monster.’”

“What’s this guy’s name?” asks Kagami roughly, cracking his knuckles. “I gotta go sock him in the jaw.”

“Kagami-kun,” says Kuroko with some resignation, “_n__o_.”

“Why not?!” Kagami starts angrily. “That was a dick move!”

“Which is why Midorima-kun already did the honours,” Kuroko says tiredly. “Yes, I know you’re surprised, but Midorima-kun is a very different person when he is truly angered. Now allow me to go on, will you?”

Kagami simmers but quiets down. Izuki doesn’t bat an eyelash at this revelation about Midorima - he seems like the tsundere mom friend anyway.

Kuroko continues, “Ogiwara-kun, called me and told me through tears that he had lost. He was angry at himself for breaking our promise, and swore that he would keep it come hell or high water the next year. My heart broke for him, but I comforted him anyway, telling him that we would definitely fight each other in the finals of our third year.

“That was when things really took a turn for the worse. Midorima-kun and Murasakibara-kun had never been on the best of terms, but somehow, in the tail end of our second year, the tension seemed to come to a head. They were always arguing, as were Aomine-kun and Kise-kun; and this time, it was less good-natured and friendly than it used to be.”

“Why so?” asks Kiyoshi. “Weren’t they good friends?”

Kuroko nods sadly. “They were more than that. They could read each other with almost as much ease as Aomine-kun and I could. But… Aomine-kun’s change started to affect Kise-kun too. He was always like a mirror of Aomine-kun, a two-dimensional reflection - and it was no different now. Where he had been lively and vibrant, Aomine-kun now played with bored and dull eyes; so Kise-kun lost his spark, too.”

“That’s awful,” Kiyoshi says quietly. “Friends losing each other like that…”

Kuroko heaves a breath. “Yes. I hope that they can reconnect now, but Kise-kun will never idolise Aomine-kun like he used to… and that’s both good and bad for their relationship. But that’s a story for another day.”

“Go on,” Izuki says, nodding at him.

Kuroko tilts his chin in response and continues, “In the nationals, Aomine-kun blitzed past every single team with ease. He started skipping practice and talking about how he would stop coming to games. I encouraged him, saying that he’d definitely find someone who was more amazing than he was some day, and it helped; he even smiled in the final game of the nationals, which we won with some difficulty. But it wasn’t to last for long: our old coach, Mr. Shirogane, fell ill and had to step back. In his place came Mr. Sanada, who was far less astute than he, and as a result handled the first string with less care.

“That was when the ‘Generation of Miracles’ started to truly bloom. Soon, each one of them was scoring so much that they started to get bored; Midorima-kun was the only one who remained diligent in his game. To solve this problem, Akashi-kun came up with the idea of keeping quotas for each game - each player would have to hit a specific score, or they would be made to do extra drills. At that point, I was practically redundant, and barely subbed in any more.” Kuroko picks up the water bottle but doesn’t take a drink, staring sadly at his hands, lost in memory. Seirin doesn’t interrupt his melancholic silence, waiting patiently for him to feel up to speaking again.

Thankfully, he doesn’t take long, uncapping the bottle and taking a swig before he continues in an almost clinical tone, “Our third year rolled around without much fanfare. Depressed and angry that no one was on his level, Aomine-kun abruptly left in the middle of practice one day, and from then on was given special permission by our coach to skip practice as long as he came to games; Mr. Sanada didn’t know how to handle a superbly talented yet depressed player like Aomine, unlike Mr. Shirogane, and could not give him the required support.

“That was the first time I saw how fractured our once-team had truly become: broken and shattered like a piece of glass carelessly dropped on the floor.” His voice cracks, just like the glass he used as a metaphor, and Izuki feels his heart break for this boy who has undergone so much that he shouldn’t have had to.

Taking another deep breath, Kuroko goes on with a wet shine in his eyes, “On seeing Aomine-kun skipping, Murasakibara-kun demanded to be exempt from practice too. Akashi-kun forbade it with the most anger that I had ever seen from him… but Murasakibara-kun, who _ always _ listened to Akashi-kun, defiantly challenged him to a one-on-one.

“Akashi-kun first turned to me, asking me calmly to persuade Aomine-kun to return to practice. Then he agreed to Murasakibara-kun’s demand for a one-on-one, thinking that he would easily defeat Murasakibara-kun. But this time, it was something that Murasakibara-kun actually wanted, so he gave it his all. And to all of our shock… Akashi-kun was _ losing_.

“Akashi-kun comes from a very wealthy family, with a strict father who didn’t accept anything but victory. Basketball was the only place he could be himself, and once his mother died, that was gone too. He was expected to win, win, and win again. The fear of loss was so deeply ingrained into him that he couldn’t handle even the thought. In the words of Kise-kun, Akashi-kun’s eyes were like ‘that of a cornered lion’. Desperate, scared, alone… And that’s when he changed.”

“To your psycho ex-girlfriend that we know and love today?” inquires Izuki dryly. He still can’t believe that anyone can have such fragile mental health, but he isn’t going to judge; he’ll do what he does best and try to lift the mood slightly. “You have horrible taste, Kuroko.”

It works, judging by the small upwards twitch of Kuroko’s mouth and the shine of gratitude in his eyes.

He continues in a heavy voice, gaze turning sad again, “According to Midorima-kun, Akashi-kun rose from the floor with a new glow in his eyes. Then he simply swept past Murasakibara-kun, ankle-breaking him without so much as a backwards glance and _ walking _ to the hoop as if he had all the time in the world. From that second onwards, he dominated the game completely, scoring and scoring and scoring. It ended with Murasakibara-kun struggling to get up from the court, and Akashi-kun addressing all the players by their first names. To everyone’s surprise, Akashi-kun announced that they no longer needed to come to practice as long as they won the games. Midorima-kun quoted, ‘Victory is all that matters’.

“With Aomine-kun, meanwhile, I was completely unsuccessful in persuading him.” Kuroko gulps as he speaks. “He - he—”

“Hey,” Kagami says, uncharacteristically softly, “you can take a break if you like. You don’t even have to tell us this.”

Kuroko shakes his head. “I have to,” he replies quietly and goes on with some effort, “Aomine-kun said that he was too strong. That the only one who could beat him was him, that he didn’t need me any longer. He said that - that”—he inhales sharply—“that he had even forgotten how to receive my passes.”

“Idiot,” Kagami says derisively. “Kuroko’s passes are the best. They’re unforgettable.”

Kuroko smiles a little, then sobers up and goes on, “When I returned from my errand, I went straight to Akashi-kun to inform him of Aomine-kun’s attitude. I don’t know what I was expecting - comfort, an assurance that things would be all right… but I definitely didn’t expect to see what I did.

“Akashi-kun’s left eye was almost golden. He held himself with a new, more arrogant stance, and his pupils had gotten thinner. He… he looked like a different person.” Kuroko tenses visibly, his hands starting to tremble. “I… can I take a minute?”

Kiyoshi nods, giving him an encouraging pat on the back. “Of course you can, Kuroko. Relax, okay?”

Kuroko dips his chin in acknowledgement, still shaking a little. He takes a drink of water, and Riko squeezes his hand gently.

“Okay, I think I can do this now,” he says after a few minutes of silence, still looking slightly pale.

“You sure?” asks Koganei with a concerned face.

“Yeah,” says Kuroko softly. “I… Akashi-kun wasn’t _ himself_. I - I ignored it, thinking that it was just a product of how sick I felt after speaking to Aomine-kun… but when I related what Aomine-kun had said to me, this was what I received as a reply: ‘Don’t worry about fixing a cracked plate as long as it can still be used’.

“I didn’t know what to do. I fell silent and stared at Akashi-kun as he spoke, telling me how Aomine-kun didn’t need to be brought back to the right path as long as he helped us in victory. He went on and on until finally, I couldn’t bear it. I stepped back from him, half-shouting, ‘Who are you?!’

“And he said, ‘Who else would I be? Of course I’m Akashi Seijūrō, _ Tetsuya_.’” Kuroko takes a deep breath, staring at the ground.

“And then?” Izuki prompts.

“And then it all fell apart like a house of cards,” Kuroko says bitterly. “We went to nationals, but the team wasn’t the same. They played _ mind games _with our opponents, barely even trying to secure victory. I was of course useful on the court, but only to prevent steals and redirect passes. I didn’t share the same camaraderie with any of them that I used to, and it hurt.

“I still had one thing to look forward to, though: my rematch with Ogiwara-kun. He made it into the semis, where we would meet earlier than planned. However, the match before that put me out of commission; a pair of twins, known as the ‘Genius Twins’, ended up injuring me through foul play, and I couldn’t be in the match.

“Before the game, I requested Akashi-kun to play the match with all of his and the team’s strength. To go against Ogiwara-kun with everything they had, because Ogiwara-kun never liked being taken lightly.” Kuroko takes a juddering breath.

“Akashi-kun nodded, promised me that he would. I never understood how backhanded that promise was.”

“Why? What happened?” Izuki asks, shoving down the urge to stab Akashi with all his might.

Kuroko sighs sadly, tears collecting in his eyes. “When I returned from the infirmary, I saw the final score. We had won, and it was perfect; and horrible. Just as I had asked, they tried their best. Except… they tried their best with the worst of intentions.

“The final score was 111 - 11. Perfectly symmetrical. They hadn’t allowed Ogiwara-kun’s school Meikō to score beyond that, and they did it on purpose. A mockery of my impassioned request, to show me that teamwork mattered to them just as much as a piece of trash in the bin did.

“I didn’t know what to do. I… I was broken, defeated by this sick parody of my earnest plea. I had never hated basketball, not ever, but in that moment, I did. That very day, I quit the Teikō basketball club for good.

“Then I went to Ogiwara-kun’s school to apologise, but one of his friends gave me the worst news of my life. Cheerful, spirited Ogiwara-kun had been crushed so utterly by the way my friends - _ teammates _ \- had toyed with him that he’d left the school and even _ quit basketball_, the sport he loved more than life itself.”

“Oh, God,” Riko whispers, looking pale. “That’s horrible…”

Kuroko’s voice breaks a little, but he soldiers on bravely. “However, Ogiwara-kun’s friend believed in me. He said that he could see the same passion that Ogiwara-kun had possessed burning inside me, and gave me Ogiwara-kun’s black wristband.”

Izuki recalls the wristband Kuroko wears during matches and asks, “That one?”

Kuroko nods, some happiness returning to his gaze as he recollects the memory. “Yes. The same one. Ogiwara-kun’s friend asked me to keep it and not to quit basketball; to show the Generation of Miracles what it means to love your team, to play with friends. I didn’t believe him at first, but I knew it was what Ogiwara-kun would have wanted. So I came back to basketball, choosing Seirin because you guys’ teamwork last year made me so happy to see - and because you had the best coach.”

Riko smiles and blushes a little, rubbing the back of her neck. Kuroko smiles softly at her and says, “Basketball at Seirin didn’t just help me to teach them the true meaning of teamwork. It helped _ me _ understand that. If I hadn’t come here, it’s most likely that I never would have rediscovered my love for basketball.”

At that, Kiyoshi grabs Kuroko in a tight hug, patting his head gently. “We’re always here for you, Kuroko.”

Izuki almost feels the crushing pressure of one of Kiyoshi’s hugs on his ribs and pities Kuroko.

Kuroko attempts a smile through his struggles to breathe. “Kiyoshi-senpai—” he coughs. “Can’t - breathe—”

Kiyoshi lets him go, looking abashed. “Sorry,” he laughs. “But you know that we’ll always protect you, right?”

“Thank you,” Kuroko says.

Izuki, meanwhile, has adopted a contemplative expression, drawing his brows together as if in deep thought.

“You okay, Izuki-kun? You’ve been very quiet about this whole issue,” prods Riko gently.

“I’m fine, just choosing from my options.”

“Choosing what?” asks Kuroko.

“Whether to rip your ex-girlfriend’s lungs out or to feed him his own eyeballs with a fork,” Izuki says with vicious pleasure.

The entire team sweatdrops at his overprotectiveness, and Kuroko mutters, “Scarier than Akashi-kun, I swear.”

* * *

Rakuzan and Akashi are frighteningly talented. Izuki had seen proof of it in the Shūtoku match, but he doesn’t even know what to think now.

Akashi… the guy is immensely strong. Sure, Izuki can somewhat match up to his speed, but that prediction ability? His own intuition pales in front of Akashi’s eyes. ‘Emperor Eye’ is truly an apt name, because everything crumbles before it just like the world crumbles before a conquering emperor.

But at the end of the day, that eye’s owner is a child with a mental illness, daddy issues, and a God complex. So Izuki’s not very frightened, not really.

He looks back at the screen where the cold pits of Akashi’s eyes bore into the camera with a dead gaze. Izuki is a little surprised at the utter lack of emotion in those heterochromatic irises - he didn’t think it was possible to be so devoid of feeling - but then again, he’s heard what schizophrenia can do to people.

“He…” Kagami says with equal parts wonder and disgust. “Can that guy, what, _ see the future_?”

“I believe so, at least a few minutes ahead. I have no idea how, though. Akashi-kun works in mysterious ways,” Kuroko says.

“Then how do we stop him?!” Kagami yells.

“We can’t be thinking about whether we’ll be able to stop him or not,” Kiyoshi says firmly. “Besides, we have you, so I don’t think we should be worried. They may have intensely skilled players, but we have the best team!”

“We should just watch these for now and prepare ourselves by running gentle drills and taking adequate rest. Rakuzan isn’t going to be easy to defeat, and especially not if you boys are tired,” adds Riko authoritatively. “So don’t sit around worrying your pretty little heads about it! Stop thinking, start playing!”

“The game begins long before the match does. It’s a mental game before it’s a physical one, so I strongly suggest that we buck up and get ready. It’s going to be tough on both our minds and bodies, but I have faith in my team,” Izuki completes sternly, locking eyes with the rest of Seirin, who returns his intense gaze with equal passion.

“Yeah!” they all cheer, that calm assurance they’d possessed earlier starting to return. Bit by bit, Izuki watches the hope return to his friends’ eyes and smiles to himself.

_ Watch out, Akashi. You might be strong, but Seirin’s a rogue wave that’s going to wash you off your feet so suddenly that you’ll never know what hit you. _

* * *

All too soon, the morning of the match dawns upon Izuki. He wakes up feeling fresh and ready for the match, and that heavy weight that has always bogged him down, the weight of self-doubt, is gone completely. He’s in game mode, focused and concentrating only on victory, and his thoughts come with cool, detached clarity. He knows what he needs to do - he and Riko spent three hours crafting a strategy to take Rakuzan by storm - and he will execute it with perfection.

_ Today, I have to play this game better than Akashi does. Not just playing basketball, but playing with the mind. _

Today, at long last, the eagle will soar again.

Izuki rolls his shoulders and leaves the house, calling goodbye to his mother and sisters as he does. He carries a small prayer in his hand, given to him by Mai, who had told him earnestly that they’d better show Rakuzan what they were made of.

That’s the one and only promise he made today. That’s one of the only two promises that matter.

That, and winning with Kiyoshi.

He spends the train ride to the stadium silently contemplating everything that’s happened so far. He’s gotten all the way to this point, the tipping point of his entire career as a point guard, as a basketball player.

Izuki can’t even rejoice in the unintended pun. His mind is set on one thing and only one thing: the feeling of the rough leather of a basketball under his hand.

_ Today… we’ll be the victors. There’s nothing else to do apart from win. Losing isn’t an option any longer. _

He shifts his bag into place on his shoulder and steps off the train, hurrying through the station with purpose. He ducks and dodges his way around the crowds with artful grace, eyes set on his destination only.

Izuki stands in front of the Winter Cup building and inhales deeply, drawing in the scent of bleach and leather and the metallic tang of basketball, preparing himself one last time for the no-doubt excruciating match to come.

It won’t be an easy victory. But this win won’t matter to Rakuzan half as much as it will matter to Seirin. It’s Seirin’s last chance, their only chance. Seirin plays for two reasons, both fuelled by the unending love for basketball that powers their team. Rakuzan plays for the sole reason that they enjoy winning. And in Izuki’s experience, the team with stronger spirit, with stronger passion, always comes out on top.

“Yo,” says Kiyoshi, coming up from behind him and tapping him on the shoulder. “What are you thinking about so deeply?”

Izuki shrugs, giving him a small smile as an explanation. Kiyoshi cocks his head in mild confusion before his features clear with understanding.

They stand together for a few minutes, looking up at the large building, a light winter breeze ruffling their hair. This is the last time that Izuki and Kiyoshi will look upon the Winter Cup building together as teammates, as players. The last time that they will stand on the same court, on the same side; the last time that they will share the same basketball.

It is with a beautiful and bitter irony that Izuki notices the breeze carrying off the flowers of the cherry blossom tree right next to the Winter Cup stadium, like a last hope floating away on the wind.

Kiyoshi starts, sounding a little choked up, “I—”

Izuki stops him with a raised hand. “Don’t,” he says softly, eyes locked on the petals that dance in the air with careless abandon. “Let’s enjoy this moment.”

The words, _ It’s going to be our last, after all, _go unsaid.

They stay in silence for a few more minutes until the rest of the team shows up one by one. Riko is the first to arrive, tapping both boys on the shoulder and snapping them out of their daze.

“You can stare sadly at this building and contemplate the changes in your life later. For now, we have a game to play!” she says bracingly.

It’s just what the both of them need to snap out of it and into match mode. Kiyoshi puts his shoulders back, and Izuki draws himself up straighter, stance shifting to one of preparedness.

The others arrive soon after that, and then it is time for them to enter the stadium for the last time. Izuki does not say anything; he just silently leads them inside the hall and to their seats to watch the third-place decider between Shūtoku and Kaijō.

It’s barely a contest. With Kise out of commission, no matter how good they are, the rest of Kaijō cannot match up to Midorima’s calibre of play. Though they fight their hardest, not giving up even in the tail end of the third quarter when the score is 30 - 65, Shūtoku’s brilliance is too much for them.

Izuki and Seirin take their leave at the end of the third quarter, filing away silently to the locker rooms and banishing all thoughts of the previous match in preparation for their own game. Once he’s changed, Izuki sinks down onto the bench, feeling suddenly weary. He sits there for a few minutes, just barely hanging on to the conscious world - not sleepy, not weak, just… dazed. He feels like he’s floating between two realms, and his mind can’t decide in which one to take up residence.

Distantly, as if through water, he hears the whistle for the end of the fourth quarter and the booming, “82 - 55, Shūtoku High wins!”

“Hey, Captain?” Kagami nudges him gently, and Izuki starts, the fog in his brain clearing finally. “It’s almost time to go…”

Izuki nods, standing up and stretching. The team looks expectantly at him, and he blinks. “What?”

“No pep talk? No speech about how far we’ve come?” Furihata pipes up.

“We sort of hoped you would give us some more confidence. We _ are _ facing Rakuzan, and Akashi,” says Fukuda, grinning sheepishly.

Izuki raises a hand to his head and laughs.

“What’s left for me to say?” he asks honestly, smiling and looking into the eyes of every member of his team. “Can I ever express how proud I am of us? How much I love this team? How glad I am that we’ve fought so hard to stay together and fly all this way? No. I’ll never be able to put it in words. And I don’t think we need to anymore. For better or for worse, this is the end of the line. We just have to cross the final hurdle - so this time, let us find that motivation from inside ourselves. The eagle’s been crying out for food for too long now: it’s time to feed it!”

This time, there is no silence or shock on any of the team members’ faces. Instead, they’re all grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah!” they all cheer - including Riko - fists raised in the air and eyes gleaming with readiness.

“Then let’s go!” Izuki raises his own closed hand and troops out of the locker room, the rest following behind him. He feels pride welling up in his chest and moisture prickling at his eyes, but he swallows it, putting his heart away and bringing out his mind. It’s time to play the game: and play the game he will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> protective seirin >>>>> anything else ever  
comments make a blob happy~


	12. overcast skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ajsfjkkj hello all and thanks for the wonderful response!!! today is finally the beginning of the rakuzan match :DDDDD suuuuper excited to share this chap with you guys, these are the scenes i've had in mind FOREVER.  
chapter song: [Numb](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXYiU_JCYtU) by Linkin Park. haha... yeah :))

The first thing that Izuki notices about Rakuzan’s players is that _ all _ of them - save for Akashi - are taller than him. The second thing he notices is that there are only four of them.

_ Where the hell is their fifth guy? _

Izuki looks around, doing his best to appear as if he’s merely looking at the crowds when in reality he is scouting for Rakuzan’s missing player. It takes him two full minutes, but he finally locates a slender, tall third-year, dressed in Rakuzan’s washed-out blue and white. The guy has grey hair and dull grey eyes, and looks suspiciously familiar.

Izuki narrows his eyes and chances a glance at Kuroko, then back at Rakuzan’s fifth man - except the boy isn’t there anymore.

But it doesn’t matter, because both of them have the same look in their eyes. That calm, blank, and emotionless face that gives away nothing, to help them hide better on the court.

_ Fuck. _

“Gather around, and make it look as if I’m just giving you a pep talk,” Izuki mutters to the person closest to him - Kiyoshi - who nods and passes his instructions. Seirin huddles around Izuki, who releases a breath and delivers the bombshell.

“Rakuzan has a Kuroko.”

“_What_?!” comes the hushed but still outraged whisper.

“How?” Kuroko asks. “I thought I was the only one who knew how to do that.”

“Beats me,” Izuki answers softly. “But we have to figure out how to stop him. My guess is they won’t reveal this trump card of theirs at the beginning. They won’t expect us to be expecting their move.” No one smiles at the accidental pun, not even Izuki himself. The gravity of the situation is too great. “We can use this… we’ll have to find a way to use it. But for now”—he looks up at Kagami, deadly seriousness in his eyes—“Kagami, we’ll rely on you in the first quarter to pull up our score high enough that Rakuzan falls behind a bit. Do you hear me? You don’t have to try and go into the Zone; just use every last drop of juice that you’ve got and push ahead.”

Kagami dips his chin. “Understood, senpai.”

“Good. Now, as for the rest of us…” Izuki runs over the strategy they planned earlier once more, Riko adding hints and explanations to where they would change it as per this new information.

“Warm up time begins now!” shouts the ref.

Both teams act accordingly, each player taking a shot at the hoop and jogging around to get their blood flowing. A few tries go in and a few tries miss, but on the whole it’s a good warm-up, demonstrating how their individual skill has improved as well. All the while, Izuki watches Rakuzan out of the corner of his eye, and he isn’t surprised by what he sees - none of them miss even one shot. It’s only what can be expected out of a national-level team containing the captain of the Generation of Miracles and three Uncrowned Kings.

He doesn’t see the Kuroko copy shooting or warming up, but he won’t think about that right now. What comes first is securing an early lead for the dual reasons of pulling ahead and shaking Rakuzan’s confidence, even if just a little.

A sharp whistle sounds - it is time for them to be announced onto the court. It’s strangely flattering, and Izuki inhales to calm himself before he’s called.

“It's only been two years since their formation, but they've crushed all of their opponents since their Winter Cup debut!” shouts the announcer in his booming voice. “They're the revolutionary eye of the typhoon of this competition! The miraculous new star, Seirin High School!”

Who came up with all those flowery words? They’re here to play basketball, not to be the ‘eye of the typhoon’ or some shit. Izuki snorts mentally - sure, he loves a good pun, but apart from those, he has never had much use for language and all its contrivances.

“#6: Koganei Shinji!” calls the announcer.

Koga runs out onto the court, waving at everyone with a grin. It’s clear he’s soaking up the attention - Izuki sighs laboriously but doesn’t comment.

“#7: Kiyoshi Teppei!”

Kiyoshi walks onto the court, back straight and head high. He wears a gentle smile, but there’s steel in his eyes.

“#10: Kagami Taiga!”

Kagami’s entire body is vibrating with excitement as he runs out onto the glistening hardwood, and he’s grinning from ear to ear. His wild happiness is unrestrained, and that’s the way it should be.

“#11: Kuroko Tetsuya!”

Kuroko walks out onto the court, calm and collected as ever, yet there’s a spark of fire in his eyes, too. Barely any noise goes up for him from the crowd, but that’s good. That’s Kuroko’s biggest weapon.

“#4, Captain: Izuki Shun!”

Izuki shakes his head a little and walks briskly onto the court, head held high and back ramrod straight. He carries power and pride in his posture - he is the captain of one of the best teams in Japan, and he finally has the confidence to admit that to both himself and the rest of the world.

“And now...” the announcer continues in a booming voice. “The school that has been playing in every Winter Cup ever since its founding tournament. Its championships are unmatched. The oldest and strongest king, emperor of creation, Rakuzan High School!”

Izuki almost chokes on laughter. ‘Emperor of creation’? This is a _ basketball court_, not a feudal land!

“#6: Mibuchi Reo!”

Mibuchi’s walk is elegant and graceful, just like the rest of him. His calm green eyes betray nothing but friendliness, but Izuki senses a veiled frost and venom underneath the beguiling face.

“#8: Nebuya Eikichi!”

Nebuya lumbers out onto the court, heavy-handed and long-limbed, all harsh steps and spit flying everywhere. Izuki wants to flinch in disgust - Mibuchi goes one step further and actually does, scolding Nebuya softly.

“#7: Hayama Kotarō!”

Hayama has a spring in his step; his grassy eyes are alight with the same passion for the game that burns in Kagami’s, and the same arrogance that’s in the rest of their stances. Izuki instantly knows he’ll have trouble with him, more so than any of the others - including fake Kuroko.

Speaking of him… Izuki listens carefully for the next announcement and narrows his eyes when he hears it.

“#5: Mayuzumi Chihiro!”

Mayuzumi Chihiro. Interesting name. Izuki wonders what kind of a guy he is: unassuming, yet innately kind, like Kuroko? Or maybe the complete opposite?

The name rings a bell, a distant bell that is somehow connected to… Shūtoku? Izuki furrows his brows thoughtfully, lips parting in surprise when it finally clicks.

_ This is the guy I didn’t recognise when Rakuzan played Shūtoku! How sneaky, Akashi… well played. Very well played. _

He almost misses fake Kuroko - ahem, _ Mayuzumi _ \- walking onto the court with a lazy yet measured stride. Mayuzumi wears the same expression of blank apathy that he had been earlier, and Izuki winces at the complete lack of emotion on his face. Even his eyes don’t contain a spark of joy or fire, unlike Kuroko, who at least smiles and laughs.

Finally, the last member is announced - the one whom Izuki has just been waiting to crush. He grins, and the grin has a razor edge to it that would frighten grown men.

“#4, Akashi Seijūrō!”

Akashi struts onto the court - there is no other word for it - like a proud peacock. It’s clear that he has no idea what’s coming to him. You don’t awaken the wrath of an eagle and get away with it, not even if you are the greatest emperor that ever lived.

“Line up!” bellows the referee.

Taking a deep breath, Izuki moves into position opposite Akashi.

_ Today, we will show you the strength of our will, _he thinks, scanning each of the faces of Rakuzan’s lineup. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Kagami bring up a hand to graze his cheek absently.

_ Don’t think we’ve forgotten that you hurt one of our own in sheer hubris. Don’t think that we’ll take such an insult lying down! _

“Such pride comes before a fall. Do you really think that you can defeat us?” inquires a cool, nasally voice from in front of him. Izuki raises his eyebrows and looks down his nose on purpose to meet the heterochromatic eyes of Akashi Seijūrō.

“Don’t worry, Akashi-kun. We don’t ‘think’ anything of that sort,” he says softly. “But we do _ know _ that today, it won’t be Rakuzan High’s name on that trophy.”

Akashi almost seethes - Izuki sees the burning rage in his eyes - but he keeps his features cool with the same masterful skill that Izuki has often had to exercise.

Akashi Seijūrō is a formidable opponent - not that Izuki didn’t know that already, but it’s even more obvious when you’re standing on the court in front of him. However, Izuki Shun is not the sort of guy to cow down before simple intimidation tactics. He has enough of the same up his sleeve to know that if Akashi is pulling these tricks, he’s… not necessarily scared, but considers Izuki a tougher opponent than anticipated.

The captains shake hands; Akashi’s grip is firm and solid, that of a man completely in control. Izuki releases the handshake first, smiling angelically at Akashi, which only adds to the blaze of fury in the younger boy’s eyes.

_ Good. Get worked up; I’ll use that against you! _

“Hey, Izuki,” Kiyoshi says just as the game is about to start. “Kagami wants to take the tip-off—”

Izuki immediately understands where Kagami’s coming from. “Let him.”

“I wasn’t asking, I was informing you,” Kiyoshi says with a cheeky grin. They both know that if Izuki had disagreed, the plan would have been axed - he’s played basketball for long enough to have a better eye for the game than most.

Izuki rolls his eyes and gestures to the court with a sweeping arm. “Ladies first.”

“Why, thank you,” Kiyoshi laughs and gets into position. Izuki knows they’re both thinking the same thing - this is the last time they will playfully banter, standing together on the same court… but if it _ is _ going to be the last time, why feel sorrowful? They should enjoy every moment of it that they’ve got.

He inhales deeply, each second of basketball that he’s ever played flashing before his eyes - from picking it up in mini-basketball when he was eight, to the time he awakened his Eye, to now, all the way on the national stage, and fighting what is undoubtedly the most talented team they’ve ever faced.

This is it. They’ve gotten all the way to this point, at the end of the line. One would think he’d feel scared - and there is some trepidation in his heart. But not in his mind: his head is crystal clear and ready to command his body to move at any second.

That is the only weapon he needs today.

Kagami and Nebuya jump for the tip-off. Izuki watches the tilt of Nebuya’s body, his longer limbs reaching for the ball first, and prepares to move in for damage control—

But impossibly, Kagami _ accelerates _ mid-air.

He reaches the ball before Nebuya does; he swipes it towards himself and starts running, passing to Kiyoshi along the way. Kiyoshi’s mark is Mibuchi, who holds him tightly despite being much less bulky. Kiyoshi has no option but to pass, and pass to Kuroko he does. However, surprise of surprises, Kuroko _ fumbles the catch_.

Shock washes over Izuki for a split second, but he shelves it away quickly - there is no time for all that anymore. He dashes towards the ball, intent on scooping it up before that beautiful jump of Kagami’s is wasted. However, the aforementioned beast beats him to it, emerging from nowhere and skidding to a halt to pick up the ball before powering forwards to the hoop.

The defenders - Hayama and Akashi - don’t stand a chance before Kagami’s crazy jump from the free throw line. Seirin’s ace flings the ball into the basket from nearly five feet away, with such force that you’d think it would rebound, or even break the net. But it falls into the basket with insane accuracy. Perfectly timed, and perfectly executed: the falling star dunk, Meteor Jam.

The red lightning that is the indicative mark of the Zone trails from Kagami’s eyes as he drops to the ground, landing on strong legs that have seen far too much loss to give out today. He looks at his team with a challenge in his eyes, and they stare back, silently accepting that challenge.

They’ll support their ace for now and hope that it’s enough to pull ahead. Izuki doesn’t like the gleam in Akashi’s eyes, but he’ll ignore it for now in favour of scoring points. In the end, it doesn’t matter what mind games you play or how you win: only the numbers on that scoreboard have any weight in the grand scheme of things.

“Let’s go, Seirin!” Izuki shouts, grabbing the ball from Koganei. He has the perfect set-up in mind; it’s almost _ too _ perfect, and he has a heavy suspicion that Akashi is allowing them to score the way they are, but he has the chance, so he’ll take it.

They end up scoring that point as well. Nebuya’s defence was strangely loose, a little too easy for Izuki to circumvent, and he wonders to himself whether he has been underestimating Akashi.

But no. No time for that now. He has to play, and play well. If Akashi wants to give them an opportunity… they might as well make the most of it.

Speaking of which, Kuroko is struggling. He looks like a newborn lamb trying to find its feet; his legs are shaking and he’s unable to play properly. He needs to be subbed out.

Kuroko doesn’t complain about this news. He simply nods, calm as ever, and says, “I need to collect myself. Please keep up the momentum, senpai!”

Mitobe, his replacement, nods gravely. Kuroko gives him the barest hint of a smile and sits down on the bench, watching the rest of the Seirin starters get back into position and resume gameplay.

* * *

Izuki centres their new strategy around Kagami, allowing him to worry solely about offence while the rest of them defend against Rakuzan. And it pays off - though their opponents are strong and manage to score five points in between, Seirin guards them carefully enough that Kagami is able to go wild and score eleven points before Rakuzan can blink. It isn’t as great a gap as Izuki would’ve liked, but their momentum is good enough for now.

However, there’s one thing to be a little worried about. Rakuzan is using a very specific plan - a marking system. Each player of the team has chosen one mark on Seirin and is holding them down tightly. Only Kagami is able to break free of his mark, the blond Hayama, but that is still to Seirin’s advantage, since they’re locking Rakuzan in with equal pressure. It’s not a strategy that Izuki would use at this point, and he can only wonder what Akashi is planning.

Then they switch marks. Akashi darts away from Izuki, and Hayama shifts aside, making way for him, who looks like a pinhead in front of Kagami’s towering figure that is only made more imposing by the Zone. Izuki raises his centre of gravity to face Hayama on equal footing, staring into playful forest-green eyes that contain some indiscernible emotion behind all the arrogance and gleeful abandon.

_ What are you thinking, Hayama Kotarō? What are you thinking? _

But even minutes of staring at Hayama gives Izuki no answers, so he yields and goes back to watching Kagami against Akashi. It’s a somewhat unimpressive fight, if Izuki is being completely honest. Kagami’s easily able to break past him, and it feels like Akashi is all talk and no fight.

_ That’s what he wants you to think, _cautions the voice of reason in his brain. Izuki knows he should probably listen to it, but even so, he can’t help the slight amount of complacency that sets into his bones.

That complacency turns out to be his _ and _ Kagami’s downfall. Because the next move Akashi makes isn’t just surprising; it’s utterly awe-inspiring.

Kagami’s low to the ground, the lightning trailing from his eyes in little spurts now. He’s practically growling at Akashi like a wild beast, bouncing the ball in an almost protective manner.

“I don’t care how great you are,” he hisses. “This is my fury. This is my basketball. You’re not gonna beat that!”

_ I’m gonna get you, _ his demeanour seems to say. That’s all well and good, as long as he can _ pass _ Akashi, who has now activated his Emperor Eye - the ring of electric colour around his irises, tacky though it may seem, is intimidating enough that even Izuki feels a chill run up his spine.

_ Don’t be scared of these stupid things! You’ve faced so much worse! _he tells himself, and it works, if only a little. That little is thankfully enough for Izuki to lift himself out of the hole he dropped into on seeing the Emperor Eye. But it only cements the fact that Akashi isn’t showing his entire hand at once.

The Eye watches Kagami, possibly calculating his every move. Izuki narrows his eyes as he sees Akashi’s gaze flicker to Kagami’s legs - where, he realises upon following Akashi’s line of sight, Kagami has shifted his weight and is clearly preparing to drive. It’s only obvious a few seconds later, though - Izuki could have predicted that if he’d been looking very, _ very _ carefully and blocking out everything else, but this sort of foretelling is something else entirely.

_ Impossible. _ Is _ this _ how far the power of the Emperor Eye goes? It’s almost unbelievable, yet Izuki has solid and concrete proof in front of him.

Kagami is still their ace, however, and he’s still in the Zone; and _ that _is a trump card that cannot be beaten by anything but another player in the Zone. He drives past Akashi with what can only be described as an outpouring of passionate fury, leaking from his every movement like the lightning leaks from his pupils.

He shoots, and for a moment, Izuki thinks, _ This is it. He’s beaten the Emperor Eye. _

The ball soars gloriously through the air, a flight of victory and majesty. It drops down towards the basket, velocity increasing every second—

And then it bounces off the rim, falling away uselessly to the ground.

Izuki does a double take. _How did _**_Kagami_** _miss so close up?!_

The Zone’s light is starting to fade from Kagami’s eyes, and his breathing steadily grows more laborious. His shoulders sink a little from their proud posture, his gaze alarmed as he stares at the fallen basketball.

“You looked down on me. This is your punishment,” says a cold voice.

Izuki’s head snaps up in slight disbelief to see Akashi, looking straight at Kagami and speaking with a detached expression.

_ Punishment? This is too young an age to like BDSM! _

“I made you take an extra step in order to pass me. The new angle you had to take for your shot confused your limbs, and you missed as a result,” Akashi continues clinically. “Do not look down upon me again, Kagami Taiga.”

Izuki blinks a few times at the intense complexity and forethought required to pull off a move like that. The Emperor Eye is truly incredible, and for a moment, a weight sinks into his chest, persistently bogging him down with the words, _ Can you even do this? _

But if there’s one thing that Seirin has learnt from every victory and defeat that they’ve pulled through to get where they are now, it’s that _ nothing _ is infallible. Not even an emperor.

And so he pulls himself together, shoving away all his emotion and clearing his head. That’s what’s important right now - and besides, they still have the lead.

They still have a chance.

* * *

Rakuzan easily scores a few more points, thanks to Akashi’s clever play against Kagami. Even Seirin’s ace, deep in the recesses of the all-consuming Zone, falls like a pack of cards before the Emperor Eye - and Izuki hates it with a passion.

_ Think. What can you do? _

But there’s no _ time _to think. Akashi acts faster than Izuki and his team can react; it’s captivating in the terror it induces.

It’s Akashi’s ball next, and he uses a screen to advance further towards the basket. Kagami, movements markedly more sluggish than before, leaps to stop him, and almost succeeds - but for Akashi’s ankle breaker. It’s beautifully executed; smooth and sharp, the likes of which Izuki’s never seen before, not even in the countless videos of Akashi’s play style that he’s watched over and over.

Kagami collapses, and Izuki snaps free from Hayama, brain back in the game as he attempts the Eagle Spear.

_ God, help me! _ he prays, pouring all of his energy into the backwards tip. His hands just barely graze the ball, and it should be enough; but Akashi’s already swinging it up and away from his reach, passing to Mibuchi. He ducks out of the way just as Izuki loses balance and puts a foot behind himself to steady his swaying body.

_ That was close! I almost got there - if only I had reacted a second faster! _

But no matter how much he hones his reaction time, it will never match up to that of the Emperor Eye. _ That _ is the talent of the Generation of Miracles - whatever an ordinary man can do, they can do five million times better, and no amount of hard work can match that. Izuki finally understands Himuro’s bitterness towards Kagami, towards those who were _ always _ greater than he was despite working half as hard as he did. Natural selection is a mistress who plays favourites, and Izuki feels the sting of her neglect more sharply than ever. The game is firmly in the grip of Rakuzan and Akashi now, and if they don’t snatch back control, the situation will only get worse.

He looks over at Kagami, who seems defeated despite still being in the Zone.

_ This is not good by any means. _

Mibuchi heads towards the basket, but trustworthy as always, Kiyoshi heads him off right there. The two mark each other for a few moments, and it almost feels like Kiyoshi is winning - until Mibuchi pulls off an insane double clutch.

The ball flies towards the basket and is just beginning to drop when a dark head pops out of nowhere, and a large hand stops it mid-flight. Mitobe lands with a thud, basketball clenched firmly in his grasp, dark eyes smouldering with fury and the drive to win. He doesn’t need to speak to get his point across; Mibuchi meets his stare with the previously veiled frost now coming to the surface in those turquoise eyes, then walks away as if submitting to that intense passion.

The rest of Rakuzan seem slightly shaken. They glance at one another with traces of nervousness in the previously arrogant eyes, looking furtively at Mitobe and whispering amongst themselves.

Izuki feels a grin spread across his face. He could kiss the silent center right about now - because Mitobe’s done it! He’s broken Rakuzan’s flow; interrupting a rampaging team by stopping even one point can snap their entire play style, and judging by their worried expressions, Mitobe has succeeded in doing so.

“Good job!” he cheers, clapping the taller boy on the back, and is rewarded with a gentle smile. “Thanks, Mitobe! You just saved our asses.”

Kagami coughs quietly from behind them, and Izuki turns to see the dejected look on his face. He drops his joyful demeanour, taking on a softer expression and asking, “You good?”

Kagami shrugs. “I just… I’m not sure if I can defeat Akashi, you know?”

Izuki rolls his eyes. “How many times do we have to teach you? I’m tired of it… you guys start this time!”

Kiyoshi, Koga, and Mitobe have also come up behind Kagami; the four make a huddle around their ace and begin going off on him.

“First of all…” Kiyoshi starts.

“There is no ‘I’!” Koganei continues.

Mitobe nods assertively, wearing a stern face. Izuki fills in for him, “_We _ will defeat Akashi together, because he’s crazy strong and we don’t need an _ ace _ for him. We need a _ team_.”

“Got that?” the second-years all chorus at once. Kagami flinches at their volume, but his eyes sparkle with gratitude, despite the fact that he’s just barely standing.

The light of the Zone finally fades from his eyes, and he sighs in relief. “Thank you. I needed that, senpai.”

“All too happy to keep kicking it into your head,” Kiyoshi says with a mildly sadistic smile.

Kagami winces at the hidden edge in his voice but smiles anyway. “Yeah… I really have to stop trying to fight alone, don’t I?”

Izuki smacks him none too gently on the back. “Yes, you do. Now let’s get back out there and give it all we’ve got!”

Kagami looks cheered up, some of the energy returning to his eyes. He jogs off with a bright grin, ready to show them his basketball again.

“Honestly…” Izuki grumbles to himself, taking position on the court. “What happened to me not having to give them a pep talk?”

The ball enters his hands from the right - Koga’s pass. Izuki instantly flicks the ball to Kagami, who is still being guarded by Akashi. He studies the match-up carefully - in this state, Kagami is far weaker than Akashi is. The Rakuzan captain will maul him like a lion mauling a lamb.

Kagami seemingly comes to the same decision, as he passes the ball to Mitobe, who uses his hook shot to stymie the defenders and scores the points. Rakuzan is quick to counterattack, though, and Akashi passes to the nondescript Mayuzumi, who easily nets the shot.

_ A normal shot. So Akashi found a guy who not only possesses Kuroko’s lack of presence, but also has decent base skills when compared to Kuroko. What a ploy… _Izuki grits his teeth, not wanting to admit that the younger boy has outplayed him with ease.

A sharp whistle sounds in the air, and he turns to see Mitobe walking off the court. In his place comes Kuroko, snapping his wristbands and looking tense but still far readier than before. Kuroko finally seems like… _ Kuroko _again, considering the intense nervousness and emotion that had been in his eyes for the whole week before this game.

Many whispers go up in the crowd at his entry.

“Oh, it’s #11!”

“I can’t wait to see some of his miracle passes!”

“How about the Vanishing Drive or the Phantom Shot? Those are amazing too!”

Izuki frowns a little to himself - since when do people _ recognise _ Kuroko? Not that he begrudges the shadow the attention, but that’s the whole advantage of having Kuroko: he goes unnoticed and hence is underestimated.

But he puts that out of his mind for now. It doesn’t matter just yet - he knows that Akashi will eventually exploit this, but until then, all they can do is play Kuroko as much as possible.

“Let’s do this, Kuroko?” he says and offers a big grin, to which Kuroko responds with a small but genuine smile of his own.

“Yes, senpai,” is the reply with a short nod. There’s no concrete reason to put Kuroko in now… but the point gap is narrowing. Riko must not have wanted to risk it - Kuroko and Kagami’s double-edged offence is far more formidable than most other teams’ aggressive approaches.

With a soft sigh, Izuki accepts his coach’s decision and gets his head back in the game. Kuroko will just have to worry about himself now.

* * *

As the game continues, Seirin is in control of the ball at long last. Kiyoshi passes it to Kagami, who is marked tightly by Hayama. Their eyes meet, and Kagami drops his gaze ever so slightly.

It’s enough to trick Hayama, who shifts forwards in hopes of stealing. Kagami takes the opportunity, making a crossover but leaving the ball in place for Kuroko to pass it through to Koganei. And Kuroko comes through perfectly - the pass lands like a gem in Koganei’s hands. But a point that should have been, could have been, is blocked by Mibuchi, resulting in the ball rebounding off the backboard. Koganei’s mouth falls open in disappointment, yet he lunges for the ball anyway.

He’s too late. Nebuya’s already grabbed the rebound and passed to his captain, who then tosses it Hayama’s way. Hayama drops low in front of Kagami, whose eyes spark with the lust for revenge.

_ You held me in place, _ the red irises say. _ Now look what I’ll do to you. _

But Hayama Kotarō is not an Uncrowned King for nothing. He places two fingers on the ball, dribbling so powerfully that Izuki swears he sees lightning emanating from the bounce.

Kagami moves to block. Hayama pulls back, annoyance on his face at being foiled. He lays another finger on the ball, seemingly considering the grip before adding one more. That makes four fingers in total.

Izuki gulps slightly. If just two fingers could do _ that_, who knows what would happen with four? Maybe Hayama’s dribbling will shatter the hardwood floor of the court.

Hayama slams the ball downwards; Izuki promises he isn’t joking, this time there is _ real _ lightning coming from the arc of the ball’s path to the ground and back to his hand. Is the famed Lightning Dribble so fast, or so strong that it causes such an effect? The speed of the dribble is too much for even the powerful Kagami, who can’t help but gasp like a fish out of water when Hayama passes him and lays it in with ease.

15 - 11, to Seirin. Their lead just keeps getting narrower and narrower. Izuki grinds his teeth and tries not to let it get to him.

* * *

It is, yet again, Seirin's ball. Izuki dribbles once, twice, then passes it to Kuroko. The ball flies directly to Koganei, who takes his quick step backwards in preparation for the Barrier Jumper.

He jumps - and Mibuchi jumps with him.

Koganei’s hands arch backwards, his eyes narrowing. He releases the ball with an elegant flick of his wrists, and it just barely clears the taller Mibuchi’s outstretched fingertips. The perfect shot.

The ball flies towards the hoop. It begins to drop towards the basket, and Izuki bites his tongue before he can celebrate the shot too early.

_ Come on, come on, come on… _

And, against all odds, the basketball bounces off the rim and falls to the ground.

Koganei freezes for a split second before turning a furious gaze on Mibuchi and saying nothing. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a clear invitation to play the game proper. And by the look in Mibuchi’s eyes… he accepts that challenge.

Izuki won’t be able to change Koganei’s mark any longer. That is a battle that he’ll have to fight on his own; Izuki would normally have the uttermost confidence in Koga that he can succeed in that battle, especially after the Kaijō match, but by the way things are going… this is not looking good for Seirin in the least, and it’s barely the first quarter.

Izuki closes his eyes for a second, replaying the shot in his mind. The pass was perfect. Mibuchi was milliseconds too late to block Koga’s shot completely…

But no.

Izuki suddenly recalls Mibuchi shifting his weight, cold green eyes flicking to the pass that Koganei receives seconds before he receives it. He recalls Mibuchi’s jump being faster than he should have been able to react - and that’s when he puts it together.

They can see Kuroko. Seirin’s biggest weapon is now useless.

Izuki inhales sharply and lets it go, instead focusing his energies to think about what’s to be done next.

* * *

It’s Seirin’s ball next, and Izuki sends it to Kuroko, who quickly applies his misdirection to pass it through Rakuzan’s network of players. But who would have guessed, his pass is intercepted, by none other than Akashi. Izuki isn’t even shocked at this point, merely resigned to the fact that their number one trump card has been effectively defeated.

The ball zips around the court before Seirin’s players can react, resulting in another basket for Rakuzan.

15 - 13. _ Damn _ it, the lead they poured everything into is disintegrating like dust in the face of a powerful gale. Izuki clicks his tongue, trying to think of some strategy, _ anything _ to use against the strength of those eyes.

_ Come on. Come on. We’re not going to lose, not after coming this far. _

To his left, Akashi and Kuroko are having a quiet conversation, which Izuki cannot hear even if he strains his ears. Kuroko’s face goes from blank and calm to distraught and shocked in a matter of seconds, and Izuki feels the anger rise in his stomach, but he quells it as fast as possible and rushes over to Kuroko the minute Akashi leaves him.

“Hey, cheer up. Whatever he said to you can’t be that bad. Let’s win this game,” he says bracingly.

Kuroko shakes his head, staring at the ground. “It’s true…” he replies in a soft, haunted voice. “What he said… it’s all true!”

Izuki exhales through his nose and grabs Kuroko by the shoulders, shaking the slender boy roughly. “Hey. Look at me.”

Desolate blue eyes meet emotionless black ones, and Izuki says coolly, “Let it be true. Does that impact our play style? Even if he knows what we’ll do, we just have to do the best we can. And besides, our spirit is greater than theirs. We want to win more than they ever have. So shall we get out there and kick some ass?”

A hint of a smile appears on Kuroko’s face. It’s all the confirmation Izuki needs.

* * *

The game continues, with Kuroko being marked by Mayuzumi. All eyes are on Kuroko, which Izuki doesn’t like one bit - and it’s clear that the shadow of Seirin is uncomfortable with the attention, too. His misdirection seems not to be working on the crowd; a bad sign.

Akashi uses that moment of all their distraction to flick the ball away from Koganei. Izuki lunges forwards, leaving behind his own mark, Hayama; but Akashi’s miscalculated his steal, and the ball goes out of bounds, meaning it's still Seirin's ball.

The whistle sounds again, and Izuki looks to the bench with slight shock to see Tsuchida holding up the #11 card.

“Player substitution, black #11!”

Riko looks deliberately at Kuroko, then back at Izuki, who understands immediately. She needs to talk to Kuroko - right now, the shadow needs the words of a coach to ground him and get him together.

Izuki welcomes Tsuchida with a grin and shouts to the rest, “Let’s pick up the pace and pull ahead, guys!”

“Yeah!” Seirin responds; they're a little more muted than usual, but he’ll take it over anything else.

“Coach has a plan,” Tsuchida says quickly before they can scatter across the court.

Izuki turns. “Yeah?”

Tsuchida outlines Riko’s idea in a few words, using vigorous hand gestures to get her point across. The rest of Seirin look at one another doubtfully - it’s a shot in the dark.

But… it’s what they have, so they’ll take it.

“Let’s do this, then,” Izuki says firmly.

* * *

“So,” Kiyoshi begins, jogging next to him to take up their positions for defence.

“So?”

“Do you…” Kiyoshi looks slightly uncomfortable, and Izuki cocks his head in confusion.

“Do I what?”

“Well… do you have a plan to… you know.” Kiyoshi makes a vague gesture to the court as a whole.

Izuki sighs softly. “Not yet. Akashi’s… even better than I thought he would be, and I had high enough expectations. Honestly, I’m running on fumes with ideas right now,” he admits. “I need you guys to give me a little more time, okay?”

Kiyoshi smiles wryly. “Time’s all we got,” he laughs, spreading his hands. “I trust you, Shun. Take as long as you need.”

“Thanks. Will do…” Izuki murmurs and settles into position. This match feels… different, somehow. He cares about the outcome just as much as any other game he’s ever played, but there’s no panic or tension seeping into his bones. He’s clear-headed, has been from the start of the game, and he can’t say it’s a disadvantage in the least bit.

It will only help him build upon the beginnings of the plan that are starting to form in his brain, after all.

* * *

Rakuzan nets another couple of points to tie the score at 15-all. After that insane feat with Kagami, Akashi hasn’t revealed much else, so Izuki decides to follow the same strategy and keep his aces hidden up his sleeve.

The ball, fought over between Koganei and Mibuchi - a strange enmity seems to have sprung up between those two - falls out of bounds just as the whistle blows for what must be the fifth time in just this quarter. Izuki doesn’t have to look up to know that Kuroko is back in the game and marking Mayuzumi once more.

The ball is thrown towards Izuki, who immediately passes, circumventing Hayama. It goes to Kuroko; he catches it quickly, drawing his hands close to his body so as to prevent Mayuzumi from stealing it.

Then he ducks left and disappears.

_ Vanishing Drive! _

Izuki bites his lip and sincerely hopes, despite Riko’s plan, that it works. His hope is crushed the very next second, as Kuroko shimmers back into vision not fifteen seconds later, caught by Mayuzumi in his attempt.

_ Damn it… _

Their weapons are being crushed one by one - anyone else would find this situation hopeless. Izuki, however, can’t feel a thing; all his emotions, positive or negative, are locked neatly behind the thick glass wall that separates his heart and mind. All he can think about is how to _ use it, use it, use it. _

And yet, nothing comes to his mind. Nothing is available on the court that he can play to his benefit, least of all Akashi.

Izuki grounds his lower jaw against his upper one and inhales sharply, allowing his thoughts to leave his head. He watches carefully; Kuroko still has the ball and is now trying for something else - _ Phantom Shot_, he realises instantly, as Kuroko takes the unorthodox position. The crowd begins to murmur amongst themselves.

“This is Phantom Shot!”

“Can’t wait to see it!”

“I hope they score!”

That’s not good. That’s not good in the least. Izuki looks up at the teeming masses with a little bit of alarm to find them pointing at Kuroko with wide smiles and excited looks.

_ This is bad… the whole point of Kuroko is that no one notices him! Was this Akashi’s plan all along? _

Izuki looks towards Akashi, who is staring directly at him, a cold smile playing on his lips.

_ See, this is what happens when you go against me, _ those icy eyes seem to say.

Izuki swallows the frustration, locking it behind his glass wall, and resumes play with a clear head once more. Never mind that that clear head seems not to be working right about now… never mind that the game is going about as terribly as it can go.

Kuroko shoots.

And miracle of miracles, Mayuzumi _ blocks it_.

There’s triumph in those dull grey eyes now, a dead sort of triumph that contains no true joy, just vindictive pleasure. It’s almost sickening; but Izuki doesn’t let himself feel that. Instead, he observes Mayuzumi carefully, trying to figure it out.

_ What makes you tick? What can I use to crack you, Mayuzumi Chihiro? _

Oh, he might not know right now. But watching the way Mayuzumi looks at his teammates, unbridled negative emotion in his eyes, Izuki has a sneaking suspicion as to exactly what might be his trigger.

Unfortunately for Mayuzumi, his fingers are all too ready to pull that trigger.

He chances a glance at Kuroko and is unsurprised to see that the slender boy shows no signs of being demoralised. In fact, his eyes are singing with joy just to be on the court and playing basketball; his stance is alight and alive, and the fire that shapes his quiet determination is back once more.

_ Perfect. _

* * *

While Izuki may be so many steps closer to figuring out what makes Mayuzumi tick, it doesn’t change the fact that the fake Kuroko has stolen the ball from them. Rakuzan counterattacks quickly; Hayama slips past Izuki with some difficulty and heads to the basket to lay in the ball. But mere seconds later, Kagami is there, swiping the ball away from Hayama and saving Seirin a vital couple of points.

They all breathe a collective sigh of relief at that. However, oil hasn’t been poured on their troubled waters just yet - Mibuchi is quick to retaliate, netting a speedy layup, which Koganei is too slow to catch him on, resulting in Rakuzan taking the lead at 17 - 15.

* * *

A few shots later, Rakuzan retains their frustrating lead at 21 - 18. It is now their attack, and Hayama takes the chance, heading towards the basket and shooting from a sizable distance. He misses; but Nebuya is there within seconds, reaching greedily for the rebound with the same intensity that he stuffs food in his mouth.

However, Kiyoshi is just as good - if not better, had his legs been uninjured. He seizes the ball right out of Nebuya’s grasp, fingers digging deeply into the rough leather: Vice Claw is truly an appropriate name, for he claws the basketball in one hand, letting out a harsh shout as he passes.

Izuki catches the ball and sees Koganei, free because Mibuchi had moved to assist Nebuya. Their eyes meet, a moment of understanding flickering between them; then Izuki passes. Koganei grabs the ball, jumps, and shoots.

Mibuchi rushes towards him, reaching for the ball in mid-air, but Koganei’s shot has flown too high for even his gigantic frame. The basketball drops gently into the net - the first three-pointer that the shooting guard has scored today.

Izuki sees something break in Koganei’s eyes, some film that’s been holding back all the raw talent and power he possesses, and grins.

The whistle blows for the end of the first quarter with Seirin and Rakuzan tied, 21-all. As the teams step off the court, Izuki hears a thin voice clearly directed at him, “Don’t assume that a mere eagle can swallow an emperor whole.”

He doesn’t respond, simply keeps walking towards the bench. That will infuriate Akashi more than turning around and deigning to answer; it’s better to keep silent now and give his answer in his basketball.

* * *

“We’re doing better than I expected,” Riko says with a grin. “My idea worked, huh?”

“Yes, it did,” Izuki says warmly. “I have to admit, I doubted it at first—” Riko swipes playfully at him, and he dodges, continuing with a smile, “But I decided to keep my faith in our amazing coach, and it worked out perfectly!”

“Wonderful,” Riko laughs. “Now, I plan to bench Kuroko-kun for the entirety of the second quarter - do your best to come up with a solution by then!”

Kuroko nods. “For the sake of victory, I will definitely return and give everything that I’ve got,” he says resolutely. “My love for basketball won’t lose to Akashi-kun and his minions!”

“Good to hear,” Izuki replies. 

“Now what are we going to do about fake Kuroko?” Riko asks.

“Fake Kuroko?” Kiyoshi asks with confusion.

Riko rolls her eyes and clarifies, “Mayuzumi.”

This elicits a bunch of blank stares from the entire team. Izuki resists the urge to facepalm and gestures for Riko to continue.

“Remember when Izuki-kun said Rakuzan has a Kuroko?! Well, they’ll use him now that the original is off the court. They didn’t use him against Takao since the Hawk Eye has a wider field of vision - Izuki’s Eagle Eye has a blind spot.” She grins to herself, the sharp grin that has terrified lesser men and serves to make the team sit up straighter.

“Well, that’s where they’re making their first mistake,” Izuki chips in.

“I almost feel bad for them,” Tsuchida comments with a grin.

“Don’t, they deserve it,” Kagami interjects, running his fingers over the thin scar that still resides on his cheek and scowling at the floor.

“Akashi-kun cut you, didn’t he, Kagami-kun?” Kuroko asks suddenly. There’s a pit in his eyes that even Izuki is scared of - and Izuki doesn’t scare easily.

“...Yeah?”

“Right.” Kuroko cracks his wrists none too gently, and the entire team shudders. “I’ll have some words with him about that. After we win.” He looks up at Izuki, a light of expectation in his eyes. “Please hold up the fort until I can come back, senpai.”

Kiyoshi laughs. “We’ll do a lot more than that, Kuroko!”

And with that, Seirin storms onto the court with all the rejuvenated power of a phoenix reborn from its very own ashes.

* * *

When the second quarter begins, it’s Seirin’s ball. Izuki clutches the orange sphere, holding it high and away from his mark, Nebuya. He looks around, choosing the perfect pass course before readying himself for it—

And of course that’s the moment Rakuzan decides to take advantage of. Nebuya fades away, and Akashi is on Izuki all of a sudden, like a young falcon attempting to claw its prey. Izuki dances just out of his reach and grins when he sees the furious expression in his opponent’s eyes - you cannot try to make another bird of prey into your own food. Izuki may be nowhere near as good as Akashi, but he’s got far more drive and far more experience than Akashi ever will.

He’s been starved of victory for much longer, after all.

“Koga!” Izuki calls out, passing deftly to the shooting guard. The pass is, however, intercepted by Mibuchi, who grins at Izuki and sends the ball Akashi’s way.

The two point guards face off, calm dark eyes staring into the frosty mismatched pair of red and gold. Akashi’s gaze is creepy, Izuki won’t lie; it feels like he’s staring into your soul, predicting exactly what you’ll do next.

Unluckily for him, unpredictability is Seirin’s strength.

The obvious move would be to lunge for the ball; Akashi purposely holds it in a weak grip, as Izuki can tell by the tension in his shoulders. He’ll be able to pull it back and pass to Mibuchi any time - except with the angle he’s got right now, he _ will _ miss that pass.

That’s where Mayuzumi will come into play. And Seirin cannot have that right now.

Izuki looks up over Akashi’s shoulder at Mitobe. Their gazes meet, and Mitobe nods once to indicate he’s ready. They’ve talked about this before; now all that there is to do is execute it.

Izuki takes advantage of Akashi’s loose footing to spring free and get onto Mayuzumi, whereas Mitobe latches onto Rakuzan’s pompous captain immediately. Izuki drops low before his new mark, an idea flashing into his head that he has Imayoshi to thank for.

_ Which player is going to be your mirror, Mayuzumi-senpai? _ he thinks mockingly to himself, tracing Mayuzumi’s line of sight to Mibuchi. _ Really, don’t underestimate me so much… _

The ball leaves Akashi’s hands, dropping to the floor with a soft thud. Everyone else would be shocked at the miss pass… but Izuki’s carefully watching Mibuchi, the mirror of Mayuzumi’s movements.

Izuki moves along with Mayuzumi, blocking Rakuzan’s phantom from the ball, which bounces about uselessly on the floor. Mitobe takes the chance as quickly as it comes, scooping up the ball and racing to the basket to wrap up with a quick hook shot.

Akashi grits his teeth, locking eyes with Izuki, who tilts his head and smiles the most innocent smile he has ever worn. He then looks up at the stands, locating Imayoshi’s face, which bears a mildly impressed expression. A short nod of the bespectacled boy’s chin tells Izuki he’s pulling off Momoi’s strategy perfectly.

“How did you—” begins Kiyoshi as he and Izuki take up offensive positions, but Izuki cuts him off with a single word.

“Imayoshi.”

Kiyoshi is not stupid by any meaning of the word, and he catches on easily. “Ah, I see. Clever, Shun. You impress me more and more each time, you know?”

Izuki laughs, a little blush rising to his cheekbones, and says nothing, instead preparing to defend against Mayuzumi’s attacks once more.

* * *

The strategy works beautifully. Rakuzan’s untried Phantom Sixth Man falls before Izuki’s - erm, Imayoshi and Momoi’s - ideas. Akashi’s eyes flick furiously from Izuki to Mayuzumi, but he gets no answers from it, as far as Izuki can tell. He hopes that’s the case - another unsolved mystery will serve to perpetuate Akashi’s anger, and Izuki wants to push him as far as possible, topple him off the edge. Akashi’s already unbalanced; a small nudge can only help Seirin go further.

However, despite the fact that Mayuzumi is effectively stalled, Rakuzan is still fantastic on its own. Izuki’s locked down on him, so it is now a match of the four free members of Seirin against the four free ones of Rakuzan - and that is a combo that’s tough enough for them to beat _ with _ Izuki in play. Without their key playmaker, Seirin would struggle to breathe… unless of course they had a certain center who, if pressured, could double up as a passable point guard.

That, fortunately, comes in the form of one Kiyoshi Teppei, who gives Izuki a roguish grin and proceeds to take his place. He’s nowhere near as good as Akashi or even Izuki himself, but Kiyoshi’s decent enough to keep Seirin alive and fighting.

The ball volleys from Seirin to Rakuzan as Izuki keeps Mayuzumi pinned down, and despite the other four’s best efforts, Rakuzan quickly pulls ahead with 30 - 24. Izuki clicks his tongue, realising that if he doesn’t forget about Mayuzumi and start playing with the rest, Rakuzan will leave Seirin behind by miles. But the conundrum is that leaving Mayuzumi free would do so much more danger than is happening right now… as Izuki sees it, he has to pick the lesser evil. And right now, that is continuing to mark Mayuzumi and allowing the game to take its course.

Still, he chafes at his bit while watching Rakuzan beat up Seirin in every way possible. Kagami, Kiyoshi, Mitobe, and Koganei are overextending themselves, giving every last drop, but three Uncrowned Kings and Akashi Seijūrō prove too much for them. Kagami and Kiyoshi could take on one of them each, but the fact remains that Mitobe and Koganei just aren’t as good as Mibuchi and Hayama.

_ What should I do? Someone tell me! _ the voice cries out in Izuki’s head, a voice he hasn’t heard since the loss to Tōō. It is the same voice that whispers all his insecurities in his ear in the dead of night when no one is around to reassure him, the same voice that gave rise to all his fears and worries. It is the voice of the vulnerable and weak part of Izuki, the one that needs someone to guide him with a gentle hand, and he hates it.

It is a voice that, frankly, he never thought he would hear again. Yet, here it is, crying out for attention, screaming for someone to help.

He thought he had left it behind. It turns out he was wrong.

Izuki shoves it deep into his heart with more effort than he’s exerted all game, breathing a heavy sigh when he succeeds in locking it behind the glass wall that keeps his emotions away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you thought this chapter was tough... :D  
comments make a blob happy~


	13. nosedive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 02.10.20:  
hi guys!!! sorry i missed last week's update, have been super busy *sigh* thank u all for ur lovely response to this!! rlly excited to share this chapter in particular~  
chapter song: [In The End](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVTXPUF4Oz4) by Linkin Park. scared? good. you should be. :)

Rakuzan is well ahead by the time the whistle blows once more - but it’s not for the end of the quarter.

“Substitution, black #8!”

Izuki looks up, startled, as Furihata walks onto the court in Mitobe’s place. Riko makes eye contact with him, and the edge of her lip curls up into a smile.

It sinks in, and Izuki grins back. With Furi on the court, the pace of the game will change. He’ll take it slow, allowing Seirin to get their rhythm back and move more freely. And maybe Izuki will be able to latch Furi onto Mayuzumi so he can start attacking again.

Furihata’s knees are knocking, and his face is white as a sheet when he faces Akashi’s cold gaze. Izuki’s eyes roll back in his head briefly, and he curses.

_ Damn_.

With how confident Furihata has become off the court, Izuki forgot how nervous he always gets when facing an opponent on it. He’ll settle in after a few minutes, but it’s still a slight disadvantage. But they have time to turn this game back around, and Furi might just be an essential part of that.

“Come on, Furi!” Izuki shouts encouragingly, shooting a smile over his shoulder at the wan-looking first year. “Don’t worry about it, just relax and have fun!” 

He won’t lie that he was tempted to yell, “Get that bread!” for a second, but that could make Kagami hungry, which is never good. Some colour returns to Furihata’s cheeks.

“Yes, senpai,” he replies, wanly returning the bright grin and ignoring Akashi’s soul-piercing stare.

It’s Rakuzan’s attack next, and Akashi has the ball. He dribbles carefully, never taking an eye off Furihata. Izuki deftly spins Mayuzumi around so he can get a better view of the battle between both point guards.

He watches carefully, narrowing his eyes as Akashi feints forward. Furihata starts with surprise, teetering and almost toppling over. Akashi looks confused at his fear but takes the opportunity regardless, powering ahead to where Kagami defends the hoop.

Izuki wants to scream for joy when he sees exactly what position Furihata has shoved Akashi into. On the sidelines, it’s too risky for him to perform his infamous ankle breaker - he might step out of bounds. But Akashi is _ good, _and though Kagami’s defence is tight, he slips past and goes to shoot—

But Kagami is… well, he’s _ Kagami_. And so he moves along with Akashi, jumping as high as he can possibly go. His fingers brush the ball just before it's about to fall into the basket. The gentle touch makes it miss by bare millimetres and bounce off the backboard. Kiyoshi and Nebuya jump to get the rebound; Nebuya wins this time and dunks it back heavily into the basket, pulling Rakuzan up to 32 - 24.

Izuki and Furihata make eye contact, then switch marks quickly, with Izuki back on Akashi and Furihata guarding Mayuzumi. There’s a complacent look back on Mayuzumi’s face, replacing the alarm and anger he had earlier. Izuki can’t help a little laugh to himself.

_ Everyone commits the same mistake. Underestimating Furi is the worst move you can make. _

Izuki cycles the ball towards Mitobe, who sends it Kiyoshi’s way. The center pauses for a second before passing it to Furi, who catches it, looking like a fish out of water. Mayuzumi frowns for a second, looking first at the ball, then back at Furihata. He seems confused by Furi’s actions, probably wondering what he’s even doing on the basketball court.

That’s when Furihata drops the act. The guileless face is replaced by one of nervous determination as he jumps and shoots in the split second of Mayuzumi’s distraction. Rakuzan’s discount Kuroko has his mouth open slightly as he stares at Furihata, whose eyes gleam with calm resolution.

“I don’t plan to lose here, Mayuzumi-san,” Furi says very softly, giving a meaningful look at the scoreboard, which now reads 32 - 26. A six-point gap means nothing against an offensively strong team like Seirin.

Izuki and Furihata switch marks again, and Izuki grins up at Mayuzumi when he meets that blank grey gaze that is now filled with rage.

“Our Furi filled you with fury, eh?” he murmurs to himself. “_Kitakore_!”

It’s the first good pun he’s made all day.

Mayuzumi stares uncomprehendingly. “What?”

Izuki waves a hand. “Never mind. I was just saying how Furihata-kun over there really pulled one over on you, didn’t he? Must suck to be you. Really, Mayuzumi-san, you of all people should know not to underestimate others.”

Mayuzumi is practically hissing steam. His eyes have darkened, and he glares down at Izuki, drawing himself up to his full height of six feet to intensify the stare. Izuki isn’t in the least intimidated, returning the glare with a blood-chilling smile of his own.

“And here I thought you were like our Kuroko. I suppose that a discounted model would be faulty in some places,” he says lightly, testing his suspicions from earlier.

The ugly fire in Mayuzumi’s eyes begins to burn brighter, and Izuki knows he’s struck gold.

“It must be horrible. No one notices you… though you could have done something to stand out, to distinguish yourself. Everyone looks down on you, even the rest of your teammates. They see you as a use-and-throw piece, right?” Izuki goads. It’s wrong and sick to do this; he feels like Hanamiya, but hey, if this is what it takes to win, he’ll do it.

He ignores the pit in the bottom of his stomach and grins up at Mayuzumi, who struggles to clear his face of emotion.

“Our Kuroko is a lot better at this whole Misdirection gig. He’s a lot better at keeping a blank face too,” Izuki says, adding fuel to the fire.

Mayuzumi grits his teeth and averts his eyes, a coldness setting into his features; he markedly does not look back at his opponent. Izuki knows a lost battle when he sees one. He’s not going to get any more reaction out of Mayuzumi, at least for the time being; so he returns to actual basketball, focusing on the goings-on of the court.

The game continues with Seirin on defense - Izuki on Mayuzumi, Kiyoshi on Nebuya, Kagami on Hayama, Koganei on Mibuchi, and Furi on Akashi. That last match-up isn’t going very well for Furihata; Akashi’s easily passing him, using ankle breakers and quick steps left and right. However, Furi’s tenacity increases with each pass, and Akashi slowly but surely begins to struggle.

If the game is allowed to flow like this, it will mean great loss on Rakuzan’s part. Their coach seems to realise that as well, as he makes the signal to call a time-out.

As Seirin troops towards their bench, Furihata collapses forward, convulsing. Izuki and Kiyoshi catch him with alarm, holding him up all the way to the bench, wherein he faints dead.

“It must be the intense pressure he just underwent. Facing Akashi can’t have been easy,” says Riko, rubbing a tender hand over Furihata’s warm forehead. “He did well, though.”

“Let me play in his place!” shouts an earnest voice. It’s Fukuda, eyes burning as he stares at his fallen comrade. “Please… we need to keep up this momentum!”

Riko nods shortly. “Okay, Fukuda-kun. Meanwhile,”—she locks eyes meaningfully with Koganei—“we’ll have to start going on the offensive and take back every point we’ve lost so far!”

“Yes, Coach!” Koga looks excited at the prospect. His eyes are alight with excitement for the duel that is to come. Izuki can only hope it goes well for both Fukuda and the shooting guard.

* * *

The game resumes once more, the score being 25 - 35 in Rakuzan’s favour. Fukuda now marks Akashi, clearly surprising the other Rakuzan players, who murmur among themselves about how Seirin’s desperation is showing by their usage of first-years against the mighty Akashi.

Izuki hides a laugh behind his palm. Players of such great talent could never understand the way that an ordinary man’s mind works. They can devise brilliant ideas but can’t get behind the simplest strategies; they think them too low to give any attention to. So that is where the ordinary man will strike.

It’s Rakuzan’s attack once more; Akashi passes to Mibuchi, who gets ready to shoot. However, Izuki sets up a quick screen against Mayuzumi, allowing Koganei to run past and guard Mibuchi in time. Thus commences the battle of the shooting guards - the battle that will decide the flow of the game for the next two quarters, at the very least.

Koganei drops low to the ground, eyes never leaving Mibuchi or the ball in his hands. His opponent merely smiles - then, before Koga can react, he slides into shooting form with a smoothness that the greatest shooting guards would envy. 

Izuki absently notes the high jump and fadeaway style of the shot - _ Heaven. _ Koga jumps, but the ball soars well over his outstretched fingertips and into the basket.

38 - 25; Rakuzan is thirteen points ahead, and Izuki has a strong suspicion that they have barely begun to try.

“Come on, guys, buck it up!” he yells to the others, injecting spirit and vigour into his voice as best as possible. “The game has just started!”

There’s a brief pause, and then—

“That’s right,” Koganei says suddenly. And it happens so fast - one moment he’s shaking Mibuchi free, the next he’s darting past Nebuya to scoop up the ball from underneath the hoop. He dribbles up the court, passing to Kiyoshi, then Izuki. Barely a thought before he gives it back to Koga, who’s in shooting form now.

Mibuchi follows on his heels, getting into defensive position just in time. But Koga’s Barrier Jumper stumps him completely, and the ball slides beautifully into the basket.

Koganei grins and nods towards Izuki, who flashes him a thumbs-up and wipes his sweaty face on the collar of his jersey. Good, this is good… Koga can and will match Mibuchi point for point.

The shooting guards monopolise the ball as the game goes on. They keep up with each other shot for shot, Mibuchi pulling off some beautifully flashy moves, Koganei keeping it simple and using his Barrier Jumper each time. Though Koga is playing just fine, Izuki can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. While Mibuchi’s each shot comes with ease, Koga looks like he’s struggling at every turn.

As he goes for a counterattack, Mibuchi jumps with him. Koganei shoots - and the ball thuds against Mibuchi’s hand, falling hopelessly to the court. 

Koga bends, panting with his hands on his knees. Mibuchi looms over him like a death omen, smiling. And despite how hard Koga is fighting against that overwhelming despair, Izuki can tell he’s starting to lose the battle. Mibuchi is simply that good a player.

In the next possession for Rakuzan, Akashi passes to Mibuchi, who holds the ball as if contemplating whether to shoot it or not. Izuki wants to yell at him to get on with the shooting already so Koga can block, but there’s a strange tension in the air as Mibuchi sets up his form.

“You’re much better than I expected you to be. Especially for a beginner,” Mibuchi says lightly, moving into position. Koganei looks up at him with unimpressed eyes, silently asking him to get on with it. “Watch me, now. I’ll show you something nice in return for the lovely game you gave me.”

Koganei raises his eyebrows - Izuki is quite proud of how well he’s learned the art of wordless sneering - and steps back to defend. Mibuchi squats low, almost _ too _ low, and Koga follows suit.

Then Mibuchi rises and shoots in one fluid motion - but Koganei freezes when he tries to do the same. His legs tremble with effort, but they don’t move, locked in place by some unseen force. Mibuchi towers high over him like a pale mockery of everything Koga has ever learned, wearing a patronising smirk as he lands.

“There,” he says. “Wasn’t that cool?”

Koganei grits his teeth and shoots a dark glare at his opponent. Mibuchi titters lightly and cards an elegant hand through his pretty-boy hair.

“Come now, let’s play pleasantly!” he laughs. “No need to hate me so much.”

“This isn’t my hatred,” Koga says quietly. “It’s my passion.”

It’s Seirin’s attack next, and Izuki passes to Koganei without thinking twice; it is his moment to shine. Koga spins the ball in his hands with practised ease and exhales slowly. The beginnings of self-doubt spark in his eyes as he looks first at Mibuchi, then at the ball, then back at his opponent once more.

_ Shoot, Koganei! This is your chance! _

But Koganei, frozen up with fear or uncertainty - Izuki can’t tell which - ducks left, clearly trying to pass his mark. Mibuchi moves with him, and Koga pulls the ball closer to his chest. His eyes are now full of hesitance, and he looks completely unsure about what to do.

Finally, after twenty-three agonising seconds, he passes to Kiyoshi, who is just under the basket. Izuki lets out a soft groan; there’s one mental battle lost.

Kiyoshi tries for a lay-up, but Nebuya is quick to block his path to the basket with his enormously powerful arms. “Muscle Block!” he bellows, foiling Kiyoshi’s attempt at the shot; Kiyoshi shows no reaction, just uses his Right of Postponement to turn the ball in his hands and send it Kagami’s way. The ace doesn’t disappoint, leaping a distance of almost six feet and flying towards the basket to dunk it.

33 - 44; an eleven-point gap in favour of Rakuzan. Nothing that they can’t overcome. Izuki ignores the voice screaming from inside him, _ How many times will you keep telling yourself that?! _

Mibuchi makes a sweeping gesture towards Akashi, who passes him the ball again. Facing Koganei, he grins at the vexed look on the Seirin shooting guard’s face.

“Ah, come on. Don’t be jealous, now,” he says. “You can’t be as good as me even if you tried… but it was a wonderful effort, really. I look forward to playing you again sometime!”

Koganei’s glare darkens even further, and he widens his stance so as to block every possible shot.

“I’ve already won,” Mibuchi continues, wearing a small, smug smirk. “I just wanted to grade your abilities.”

Koganei growls, a low sound in the back of his throat. Mibuchi smiles sweetly and prepares to shoot. It’s such a perfect stance that even Izuki is left wondering whether he will fake, or shoot.

Koga appears to be contemplating the same thing. Then, finally, he jumps for the block, impulsively deciding to follow his instincts.

It turns out to be the wrong move. Because Mibuchi jumps just as Koganei is blocking. He shoots - and Koga’s arm collides powerfully with his abdomen.

“Defensive foul, black #6!” the ref shouts. “Basket counts, one!”

Izuki curses mentally. _ Not good. Not good. A four-point play… this guy is too clever. _

As Mibuchi lines up for his free throw, Kiyoshi murmurs, “I’ll go up against Nebuya, give Koga a breather. Fukuda’s starting to tire; we have to think about what to do with him and Akashi.” Izuki nods. 

“Okay. So I’ll pass to you, then.”

“Yeah.” Kiyoshi’s face is grim.

Mibuchi makes the shot with ease - there’s no way he could miss, as both a shooting guard and as someone of his calibre. That draws the score to 33 - 48, in Rakuzan’s favour yet again. They’ve got a twelve-point lead now; it could be fatal for Seirin, who have been on defence since the last three minutes of the first quarter.

“I swear this to you, Mibuchi Reo,” Koganei spits as the players are getting back into position.

Mibuchi pauses, a question in his green eyes. “Yes?”

Koganei continues, gritting out the words as if they’re painful to speak, “We’ve done too much to give in here. So I swear today… I’ll battle you on this same court, on this same day, however many times I have to! I’ll make you taste defeat by my hand!”

Mibuchi’s lips part with surprise. Then they close, turning up into an ugly smirk that brings out the true venom in his face.

“I’d like to see you try, Shinji-chan,” he laughs darkly, heading up the court. Koganei flushes brilliantly, but to his credit, he doesn’t argue. Instead, he lifts his head high and goes to his own place to defend against Rakuzan’s attacking squad.

* * *

Now it’s the battle of the centers, the pillars of the team. Izuki passes to Kiyoshi, who gives him a confident smile and rolls the ball in his hands.

Kiyoshi and Nebuya face off under the basket, each guarding the other with intense strength. Kiyoshi’s lips move, and Izuki can’t hear what he’s saying, but by squinting and reading his lips, he can vaguely surmise that Kiyoshi is challenging Nebuya. That idea is confirmed when Nebuya bellows loudly, “I accept this offer, Kiyoshi! It’ll be revenge for the last time we played!”

The last time? Izuki arches an eyebrow but doesn’t ask; it isn’t a good idea to interrupt Kiyoshi right now. Besides, he has a feeling Nebuya will extrapolate on that; the opponents he’s faced like that have a tendency to do so.

Kiyoshi presses against Nebuya, but the so-nicknamed muscle gorilla doesn’t move an inch. Izuki sees more than most, particularly when it comes to Kiyoshi, and so he is the only one that sees how hard Kiyoshi’s straining. He’s trying his level best to bring some hope into this lifeless match, but Nebuya remains firmly in place.

Suddenly, Kiyoshi loosens his posture, causing Nebuya to stumble at the loss of pressure. Kiyoshi uses that moment of hesitation to attempt a shot - but Nebuya is there in the next second, smacking the ball away from Kiyoshi’s hand and out of bounds. As they land, he begins to speak.

“Have you really forgotten our last match, Kiyoshi?” Nebuya’s dark blue eyes glow hungrily. “You defeated me that time… the first time I ever lost to anyone. Ever since then, I’ve been training hard to build up my muscles - it’s the most important thing for an athlete, you know? To be strong and muscular. You inspired me those few years ago, saying that I had a good play style: are you proud that I took your advice? Proud that I can surpass you now?” A derisive laugh. “You shouldn’t be. But thanks… for giving me the chance to crush you! That’s why today, my nickname is Herculean Strength, Nebuya Eikichi!”

Kiyoshi smiles.

“I’m sorry. I forgot. But while it’s great to see you playing so well today… I won’t lose, either. That’s why my nickname is Iron Heart!”

“Bring it on,” snarls Nebuya, running his tongue across his thick lips.

* * *

Despite Kiyoshi’s bravado, worry mounts in Izuki’s chest as the battle of the centers progresses. You could say they’re evenly matched if you were inexperienced in basketball; but to a seasoned player, it’s more than obvious that Kiyoshi is being pressured in this situation.

Kiyoshi and Nebuya struggle against each other, but Kiyoshi’s giving ground millimetre by millimetre. Nebuya’s boxing him out without an inch of space for Kiyoshi to move, shifting the two of them slowly under the basket. Kiyoshi, however, won’t be beaten so easily. He jumps, clearly deciding that a mid-air battle is the way to go - a good move. Kiyoshi’s new Vice Claw will only help him there.

But it’s not to be; Nebuya is just as good, if not better, than Kiyoshi today. Izuki stares at the duelling pair in worry, because Kiyoshi is taking quite the beating. The Seirin center attempts to dunk using Vice Claw, but Nebuya pushes into him at just the right moment, causing the ball to rebound off the backboard. Hayama grabs it quickly and heads up the court for the counter, calling, “Ei-chan!”

Nebuya grunts from the post. Hayama passes to him, and he leaps, Kiyoshi with him all the while. The two centers battle for the basketball yet again. But this time, it’s clear to even an inexperienced person that Kiyoshi is losing this fight.

Nebuya, having had enough of the little battle, uses his enormous momentum to turn in mid-air and cram the ball into the basket over Kiyoshi’s head. Both of them drop to the ground, Kiyoshi absolutely dripping with sweat and chest heaving with exertion, Nebuya standing tall and strong despite the rivulets running down his face.

The ball rolls to a stop near Izuki and Mayuzumi. Izuki grabs it before his mark can, and gauges the distance between himself and the hoop… he’s close enough to try a three. Though his accuracy might not be a hundred percent, and he also risks Rakuzan’s possession if he misses—

“Izuki!” Kiyoshi calls, belligerence in that usually steady voice. “One last try!”

Izuki turns to Kiyoshi, and there’s something in his eyes that makes Izuki decide, _ Fuck it. One last chance can’t hurt. _

He passes, and Kiyoshi rolls the ball in his hands before pinning Nebuya with a calm stare.

“Even if I lose now,” he states, “I won’t lose _ here_. I won’t lose in our next fight today, Nebuya-san. Your block is too strong for me right now…”

His wrists turn towards Fukuda, and he passes before Nebuya or Akashi can realise what’s going on. With shaking hands, Fukuda shoots.

The ball slides into the basket with a satisfying thud: 37 - 50.

* * *

Despite the two points that Seirin has clawed up by, Rakuzan still has an enormous lead. Akashi and his team, at this point, are simply playing mind games with Seirin, allowing them to score a few points here and there as an occasional treat. They need to get out of this mindset, out of this slump they’re in…

Izuki grits his teeth for what must be the millionth time today and thinks as hard as he can.

_ Come on, come on… I need a plan right about now… hey, brain, an idea would be nice, don’t you think? _

He curses as Mayuzumi redirects a pass towards Hayama, having taken advantage of Izuki’s moment of distraction. Hayama scores, and the stadium goes up in cheers: 52 - 37, a fifteen-point lead.

“Even though I’m supposed to disappear...” Mayuzumi states, a lilt of bitter pride in his tone, “I don’t like it when you forget about me.”

Izuki glares. “Rest assured,” he spits. “It won’t happen again.”

They need Kuroko if they want to win this match. It’s already difficult, harder than anything they’ve ever done… and without their sixth man, it’s just going to get worse. Izuki glances at the blue-eyed boy on the bench, who seems to be deep in thought, and sighs to himself.

They’ll have to make do without him this quarter. Whatever happens…

* * *

There are five minutes to go in the second quarter, and things are looking terrible for Seirin. They’re down seventeen points, courtesy of another basket by Nebuya, and both Kiyoshi and Koganei are struggling to keep their heads above water. They can barely attack over their marks - Nebuya and Mibuchi respectively - who cage them tightly like lions encroaching on their prey.

Izuki stares down his own opponent - Akashi, whose gaze bores into him like a pair of nails drilling into iron. It’s terrible and transfixing all at once: Izuki just can’t escape that all-seeing gaze.

Maybe they were all right about Akashi. Maybe he was the fool with so much bravado that presumed to stand up to this kid, calling him a little first-year with too much attitude. But that attitude is there for a reason, right? With such power, anyone would become dominating and cruel. It’s even quite useful, if you think about it.

Izuki bounces the ball once, twice, thrice. Akashi looms over him; he can see no possible way to get past the guy.

_ I’m so done with this… _ flashes through his mind. The thought should alarm him, but it doesn’t. Letting out a breath, Izuki looks left, right - Fukuda’s there, and he fires off the ball towards him.

However, Fukuda’s also on his last legs, and he’s barely concentrating on his surroundings.

“Fukuda!” Izuki cries, a force of habit to get his teammates moving. But the first-year moves too late, head snapping up in shock as he lifts his hands to catch the ball.

It bounces off his open palm and skids out of bounds.

“Out of bounds. White ball!” cries the ref.

Izuki waits to be disappointed at the lost opportunity. But in the place of feeling, there is an empty hole, a hole where his heart should be. He can’t bring himself to care about it.

He is suddenly tired - his chest is hollow, and he feels… nothing. No fire or joy for the game. He’s just going through the motions, calling out orders and making passes, playing with half his potential. And it frightens him more than he can ever verbalise.

For the first time since he came to high school, Izuki freezes completely.

But the game won’t stop for him. Suddenly his face flushes with heat, and he’s hyper-aware of everything around him. He could pinpoint every last detail of the court, tell you in which direction the air currents are flowing even, but he can’t feel a thing. He looks at the basketball and does not feel the familiar spark of excitement. He looks at the hoop and does not feel that competitive drive. He looks at the players around him and cannot draw support and strength from his teammates’ valiant efforts. It all bears down upon him at the same time, and Izuki wants to scream.

_ Why am I even here? Why are we even trying to win? What’s the point of this hopeless game? _ questions his mind, still clear despite the sensory overload that he’s receiving right now. And for once, Izuki’s heart is silent in his chest. That fighting spirit that usually wells up when things get bad… it’s not there to fill the giant void that is opening up in his stomach.

_ You started it, _ says the small part of Izuki’s head that still cares despite everything. _ You’ve come this far, so throwing in the towel now is a silly and senseless idea. And if you want to keep fighting until the end, you and Seirin have bigger problems to face. _

It’s cool logic, the kind that he’s always loved, and it settles over him like a warm blanket on a chill day. So Izuki lifts his head and watches with a clear mind and a quiet heart.

_ Just keep fighting. You don’t have to worry about feeling. Fight because it doesn’t make sense to let go now. _

* * *

Fukuda, who’s completely exhausted, has been subbed out for Kawahara. Their strategy, however loose it’s holding, works for the time being… but Izuki isn’t sure how much longer it will stay up. Besides, they have another problem - one that goes by the name of Hayama Kotarō.

“Time for our rematch, man!” Hayama grins, suddenly moving to mark Kagami. “Ahh, I’ve been waiting for this for a while now!”

Kagami doesn’t respond, but there’s a dark intensity in his eyes as he stares down the Rakuzan player. “Bring it on,” he whispers.

Hayama’s snaggletooth tugs his pale lip upwards, giving him the appearance of someone with a badly malformed mouth. His grin widens, and he starts to bounce the ball in his hands. Lightning seems to spark from the trail that it leaves; Hayama is clearly pulling no punches with Kagami.

He lets out a wordless cry as he crosses over and drives past Kagami, who is for once far too slow to react as Hayama lays the ball in, pulling Rakuzan further ahead at 58 - 37.

Kagami grits his teeth, cursing at his mistake. Clearly he’s highly annoyed at himself, but he doesn’t let it affect the game, grabbing the ball and streaking up the court for Seirin’s possession. He faces Hayama once more, steady and focused.

His wrist flicks in a sharp and abnormal motion, hand making a smooth sliding gesture. Kiyoshi, who is closest by, understands the signal and puts up a quick screen, catching the flailing Hayama. Kagami doesn’t waste the opportunity: he makes a mid-range jump shot, bringing Seirin up to 39. Though the point gap is still rather large, there’s relief on Izuki’s teammates’ faces, and some light back in their previously dull eyes. Ah, the wonders of a single basket.

_ It’s still not enough. Nowhere near enough, _ his mind tells him with a scowl in its tone.

* * *

The next few possessions are… difficult, to say the least. Seirin’s ball keeps getting stolen, and Rakuzan just goes on scoring. Even Izuki, with his heartless state of mind, starts to feel the hopelessness setting in.

_ No! Keep fighting! _ screams the part of his emotion that he can’t lock away. But its voice is faint and feeble in the chaos around him, and it fades, unheard by the person who needs it most right now.

That’s when Izuki’s stamina takes an abnormal nosedive. Gritting his teeth, he hangs on to the shreds of energy he has left. 

_ Damn it! I have to keep playing… we have to keep giving it our best. _

_ But what for? _ says that unnervingly calm voice, the voice of his mind. _ What are you fighting so hard for? It’s just a game. Nothing you really need to care so much about. _

It’s sound advice. Just a game, right? All he has to do is give a couple of orders and let it play out. It doesn’t matter whether they win or not… after all, against a team like Rakuzan, what can ordinary people like him do?

The thoughts don’t come with bitterness. They come with a cold clarity that shocks Izuki - or would, if he could feel anything.

He smiles a little to himself and straightens up, fatigue disappearing. All he has to do is play this match to the end… all he has to do is see it through.

He can’t wait for it to be over.

* * *

There is one minute left in the second quarter when Mayuzumi finally breaks free of Seirin’s tight grip and starts to redirect passes again. With a Kuroko on the court, playing for Rakuzan, their opponents just get better and better. Their scores skyrocket, hitting 63 before Kagami gets in a lucky basket to bring Seirin to 41.

“Come on, guys!” Kiyoshi shouts, rallying the team after casting a desperate look at Izuki, who simply shakes his head. “Let’s get them back!”

“Yeah!” the other three members cry, but it’s a far more muted shout than usual. The scream of an eagle lying on the ground, bleeding from its throat but refusing to accept death.

_ How stupid. There’s no way out of this. We just have to keep going through the motions until we lose… _ Izuki thinks to himself.

Akashi’s lip curls up into a soft, almost kind smile. “Given in, have we, Izuki Shun? My, my… I must say I didn’t expect this of you.”

Izuki doesn’t respond. It’s taking all of his energy just to keep on Akashi.

_ Is this how great the difference between us is? I can barely make a dent in this guy… _

“But… I guess it’s good for us. We can finish this game far quicker than if you kept fighting.” Akashi’s mouth twists into something unpleasant, and then he darts off to do God knows what.

Izuki lets him.

Mayuzumi, meanwhile, is nowhere to be seen. Izuki looks around half-heartedly for him, then gives up when there’s nothing he can find.

“No!” Kawahara’s cry startles Izuki into action, and he whips around in worry for his underclassman; but he realises what has happened when Mayuzumi flickers into vision and the pass directed from Mibuchi to Hayama spins haywire.

It moves straight upwards, to Akashi, who soars high in the air and dunks the ball in the hoop with his - for basketball minuscule - one hundred and seventy-three centimetre frame, as if cementing Seirin’s utter defeat.

65 - 41. The whistle blows for the end of the second quarter and halftime. Seirin troops off the court with bowed heads, an air of gloom surrounding all save one - Izuki, who walks with an aura of apathy and tiredness instead.

* * *

“We need a plan!” Riko snaps when they’re settled in the locker rooms. “Izuki-kun, _ what _ are you doing out there? You’re like a lifeless robot!”

“I don’t care anymore.” The words spill from his lips before he can stop them. He’s too tired to worry about it, anyway; he just wants to go home and sleep. Yes, sleeping sounds nice… his bed is so soft… “It’s just a game. And we’re down too many points to win. I’m being practical, that’s all… why does it even matter?”

“What?” Kuroko whispers, voice aghast. “Izuki-senpai, what are you saying? You sound like Akashi-kun.”

Izuki wipes his face with the towel and doesn’t look at his teammates. “I’m saying that there’s no point in this. Playing a hopeless match is just going to bring down our spirits even further. Who can win against Akashi?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kagami shouts furiously. “You brought us this far! That’s Seirin, don’t you know? We never give in without a fight! Are you even Izuki-senpai anymore, or has some zombie replaced you?”

“No, Kagami. I’m just thinking practically. It’s what’s best for all of us, to be realistic. It was a nice dream we had to be the best in Japan and all, but what can we do when monsters like your Generation of Miracles are around?” He lets out a toneless laugh.

“What the _ hell_, Izuki-kun?!” Riko cries angrily. “Don’t tell me that all your bravado two years ago was worthless. Don’t tell me you were lying to me. Don’t disappoint me like this.”

Something inside Izuki smarts at that, but he keeps silent. That’s when a soft but strong tone speaks up.

“How _ dare _ you?” Koganei asks, voice trembling with rage as he grabs Izuki’s collar, forcing his chin up. Dull black eyes meet with enraged brown ones, and the sheer emotion in Koga’s eyes only serves to tire Izuki further. He looks up at his teammate, wondering absently what Koganei plans to say.

“How _ dare _ you do this to us?!” Koga shouts, voice cracking. “How can you just give in? _ You _ of all people?! You filled me with hope! _ You _ made me want to be the best in Japan! _ You _ made me think that even if I was talentless, I could still come up through hard work! _ You _ inspired me to walk this far with you! So like hell I’ll give up on that now; how dare you even suggest that, suggest leaving it all behind? We fought for the right to play this match with tooth and nail. We tussled against every opponent with claws out, never backing down. And you were at the forefront of it all, giving us an encouraging smile, always lifting our spirits even when you were down. So how can _ you _ say something like that? After all we’ve done to get here?!”

Tears are streaming down his face. One plops onto Izuki’s cheek, hot and wet. He raises a hand to wipe it off absently, noting that the tear clings to his fingers like all of their dreams, never letting go even in the direst of situations.

“I don’t know who you are,” Koganei completes his little speech, anger brimming in every part of his being. “But I know that my captain is Izuki Shun, not Akashi Seijūrō. The coach can bench you if she likes; we can fight without our captain, because we know he wants us to win for his sake. We’ve been fighting without him all the match, and we can continue doing so. We don’t need a player that can’t play with the same passion as us!”

Izuki looks at the ground and doesn’t respond. Somewhere within, something is stirring at Koganei’s words. Something that cries out to fill the gap inside him.

Next to speak is Kiyoshi, standing up and executing much the same move as Koga had by yanking Izuki up by his collar. However, Kiyoshi pulls Izuki into a standing position so that Izuki is half-leaning against him.

Brown eyes meet black, and Kiyoshi simply states, “I didn’t expect this from you, Shun.”

Then he rears his fist backwards and punches Izuki in the jaw.

Izuki loses balance, toppling backwards and crashing into the bench he was previously sat on. Water bottles and towels scatter, but he stares up at Kiyoshi from his position on his butt, looking at the anger and pain on his friend’s face.

He pulls himself up slowly, the pain in his cheek barely registering. His brain stutters to a halt; the clear-headed state that he has been in all day suddenly clouds over, like a sky abruptly overcast with a storm. He opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out. The glass wall in his mind that separates his head and heart starts to crack at Kiyoshi’s speech, and his teammates’ words begin to echo in his ears.

Koganei fighting Mibuchi, _ “This is my passion! I’ll battle you on this same court, on this same day, however many times it takes to defeat you!” _

Kiyoshi against Nebuya, _ “I won’t lose to you! We’ve come too far to stop our journey here!” _

Kagami soloing Akashi, _ “This is my fury! This is my basketball!” _

Kuroko’s words, sitting on the bench, even when he thought he had lost all hope, _ “For the sake of victory… my love for basketball won’t lose to someone like Akashi-kun!” _

Passion and fire, love and rage, all of them war in those words against the cold enemy that is Akashi and Rakuzan. And suddenly, the answer to Izuki’s predicament is crystal clear.

_ “My captain is Izuki Shun, not Akashi Seijūrō.” _

_ But… if I want to win against someone like him… shouldn’t I be the same? _ asks that voice that has haunted him for so long. That voice, crystal-clear and calm because it is weak and it has nothing to lose anymore, because it’s so tired of trying to find its own way.

The wall in his heart breaks further, the cracking sound almost audible.

Then it shatters - and with it, a flood of emotions flows into his head. Miraculously, however, it doesn’t cloud his thinking process; in fact, it _ augments _it. 

Memories, so many memories. Izuki lets them play. The first time he held a basketball, the first game he won with the neighbourhood team. All the days he’d spent after practice helping Hyūga correct his form, all the hours he’d put in for this sport. The time he met Kiyoshi, the formation of the Seirin team, the way they had powered through to the finals of the prelims. This year; the introduction of Kuroko and Kagami, beating Kaijō, losing to Tōō, giving Kirisaki Daīchi a taste of their own medicine. Kiyoshi’s return, dishing it right back to Tōō and Aomine, fighting Yōsen and Kaijō and now Rakuzan…

He made it all the way up to that point. And he didn’t make it just with a clear head and rational thinking. It’s his heart, his will and fire that led him to keep playing. It’s his heart that guides him; his mind may make the decisions, but his heart shows him the path to make those decisions. He’s been locking away the most important tool that he needs to win this game the whole time.

Izuki puts his face in his hands and starts to cry, laughing like a madman all the while.

“Ah,” he says to no one in particular, voice choked up with tears and raw from laughter, “I’m a colossal idiot.”

“Izuki… senpai?” Kagami asks cautiously, reaching out a hand to touch Izuki’s arm. “Are you… okay?”

“I’m better than okay,” Izuki says with mirth, wiping the wetness from his eyes. “I’m feeling a lot better now, about everything. Sorry… I’ve been a huge fool. But I know now what we have to do to win this game!”

He straightens up fully and rubs a wet towel over his face, the cool cloth rejuvenating his tired body.

“I tried to be like Akashi. Thinking that if I have to win, I have to know his mindset. But it’s like I said to you earlier, Kagami… there’s no ‘I’ over here. I can rely on you guys just as much as you rely on me, and it’s high time I learned that! You’re right about the spirit of Seirin; we created this club, this team, because of our unbounded fire for basketball. Who am I if I give up even that? So… I’m sorry!”

He bows deeply to his teammates, not daring to look them in the eye.

“Stand up,” a soft female voice says. A hand touches his shoulder, and Izuki looks up from his bow to see Riko, smiling at him with tears in her eyes.

“That’s the Izuki-kun I know and love. Come on now, Captain, stand up fully!”

Izuki looks at her gratefully, lifting his body from the bow and blinking back the sudden tears in his own eyes. Kiyoshi crushes him in a side hug then, and Izuki doesn’t even mind the stench of sweat or the fact that he can barely breathe.

“Thank you, Shun. Glad to see you back,” he says honestly, releasing Izuki, who grins impishly up at him.

“It feels good to be back,” he replies. Then he turns to the team, all looking at him with expectant eyes.

“We still have two whole quarters to go. And we’ve got nearly five minutes left for the game to begin again, so let’s not waste this time!” Izuki orders quickly. “All of you listen closely. I have an idea about how to stall Rakuzan…”

As Izuki vocalises his plan, this time he isn’t faking the enthusiasm and energy at each step. The blood is pumping in his veins, begging a release for the pent-up adrenaline in his legs. His head is clear, sure, but his heart is raring to go, the flames of passion and wild, unbridled joy licking at his very soul.

For the first time today, Izuki Shun feels alive.

* * *

Just before they walk back onto the court, Seirin lets out a loud cheer to keep their spirits up. Despite Izuki’s return to his normal self, it’s still difficult to look at that crazy gap in the score - nearly twenty-five points - and remain optimistic.

“All right, Koga,” Izuki says, looking directly at the shooting guard, a genuine smile playing on his lips. “You know what you have to do.”

Koganei doesn’t return the gaze - his eyes are locked on Mibuchi, who’s animatedly speaking to his teammates. But he does reply in a calm voice, “Of course I do.”

“Then what are we wasting time for? Let’s go and win this game!” Izuki says confidently. He’s faking more than half of the aggressive conviction in his voice, given that the score is so desperate, but he has enough trust in Koganei. Especially after that speech of his, and Kiyoshi’s words… he winces slightly, rubbing at the red mark on his cheek that has started to ache now of all times.

Still, it’s a good reminder to keep him alert and awake. Not that he needs it, with the way that adrenaline is rushing through his veins, but it works.

_ What’s life if we don’t give it a good fight? _asks his newly awakened heart, and he agrees. He and Seirin will keep hitting until they go down, will keep pushing until they drop dead, and then they will come back from the land of the departed and haunt those whom they lost against until they win the battle at long last.

The players take up their positions on the court. Izuki marks Akashi, staring into the heterochromatic eyes - it doesn’t seem half as difficult this time - and mentally guffawing at himself for his previous idiocy.

To defeat someone, to counter them, you shouldn’t try to be the same. You should be their exact opposite. Akashi plays with detached disinterest, so Izuki will play with ever-increasing zeal.

Just because his strength is keeping a clear head, it doesn’t mean he can’t fight with emotion as well. It just means that he has to channel that emotion into a sharp spear and impale his enemy on that spear when they’re least expecting it. Honestly… how stupid he had been. A small smirk curls his mouth as he bores into Akashi’s two-coloured eyes with his own unreadable gaze.

“What do you find so funny?” Akashi asks, ice in his voice.

Izuki laughs out loud this time, keeping his own cold eyes on Akashi’s. “Nothing. I just realised what mistakes I’ve been making.”

“It won’t help you anymore, do you know that?” Akashi hisses.

Izuki grins. “Oh, I think it will. You haven’t seen anything yet, you little upstart.”

Akashi raises one eyebrow. “Do you realise who you’re talking to? I am Akashi Seijūrō, the—”

“Emperor of Rakuzan, Oh Great Lord, Master of Everything, always right, blah, blah, blah,” Izuki interjects, rolling his eyes. “Shut up already. All I see is a first-year brat who got a bloated head because he received some cool new powers. Can we get to playing now?”

Akashi seethes visibly this time. “Why, you—”

But he’s cut off by Mibuchi hailing him, “Sei-chan!”

The ball comes rocketing Akashi’s way. The heterochromatic eyes are plain red and yellow now, no rings of electric crimson and gold around them.

_ To use the Emperor Eye… you have to have it activated! _

With that thought, Izuki flicks the ball away from the momentarily distracted Akashi and pulls it to himself. The younger boy looks absolutely enraged - his face is calm, but Izuki can tell from the slight rigidity in his posture and the dark pit in his gaze.

“I told you you hadn’t seen anything yet,” he says cheekily, activating Eagle Eye and turning the perspective so that he has a bird’s-eye view of what’s behind him rather than in front of him. Koganei is to his left, just beyond the three-point line, marked by Mibuchi who’s even farther left.

He rolls the ball in his hands, preparing to pass. Akashi’s Emperor Eye flickers on, and he lunges forwards to make a steal, but he’s too slow. The ball has already flown out of Izuki’s hands to Koganei, the transition into the pass so smooth that only the finest readers of body language could predict it. And Akashi predicted it, sure - but though he has the reaction time to match up to it, the foretelling itself was too little too late.

Koganei snatches it in his hands and jumps well before Mibuchi can, surprising him by first taking the quick step backwards and then shifting into his Ray Allen copy form. He shoots, and the ball lands in the basket.

65 - 44. Twenty-one points to narrow that gap. Twenty-one, twenty-one, twenty-one. Izuki tacks the number onto his mental panel; he won’t rest until Seirin covers that gap.

“Come on, Seirin!” he calls strongly, bracing himself for a higher level of play. “Let’s get going!”

The rest of the team cheers in response - it’s duller than usual, but the fight in their voices is genuine this time. However, Rakuzan is not one to lose so easily. They’ve got a stranglehold on Seirin now, and they won’t be letting go of them any time soon.

_ Think, _ Izuki tells himself again and again, facing off against Akashi, whose mismatched eyes are absolutely murderous. _ Think, think, think! _

“It’s exhausting, isn’t it?” Akashi asks him, observing him the way that a scientist would observe a guinea pig in a lab. Nevertheless, Izuki refuses to cower before him. He returns the icy stare with a determined gaze.

“What’s exhausting?” he bites out.

“This game.” Akashi makes a sweeping gesture to the scoreboard, the edges of his lips quirking upwards into an unpleasant smile. “It’s tiring you out, Izuki Shun. You’re unable to keep pace with us, because you’re just an ordinary person. You think you can keep up with greats like us… but hard work can only compete so much with talent. You’re merely a talentless, clumsy person with an inflated ego.”

“Shut up,” Izuki says through gritted teeth, keeping an eye out for an incoming pass. The ball is with Mibuchi, and if it comes Akashi’s way, he’ll have to hope to God that he can steal it. The unbated fire that lit his heart mere minutes ago is starting to dim once more, but this time with fear instead of apathy, and with panic he attempts to stoke it. It doesn’t work.

“You know we’re choking you slowly,” Akashi continues in a serene voice. “I will not let go until you’re dead in the water.”

“Good luck hanging on when we win,” Izuki says, forcing a tone of strength and careless confidence, and searches for the ball with intent eyes.

_ Come on, come on… _

Mibuchi moves to pass, and by the looks of it in Akashi’s direction. But Akashi doesn’t so much as twitch to receive the pass… something’s got to be up with that. Izuki observes Mibuchi carefully, from the stance of his legs to his centre of gravity, and realises what he’s going to do seconds before he does it.

“Block, Koga!” he screams desperately, eyes wild and wide, dropping every mask of calmness. Koganei looks at him with an equally panicked mien, jumping haphazardly to stop the shot—

But the ball’s already landed in the basket, and Mibuchi smirks as he hits the ground seconds before Koganei.

“Told you you couldn’t win against me,” he says softly.

Koganei growls, a low sound in the back of his throat. “Just wait and watch. Even a King can be dethroned!” he spits furiously.

He’s right about that - rulers can be toppled from their seats. But how much effort will it take to dethrone not one, but _three_? And in the space of twenty minutes?

68 - 44. This isn’t looking good in the least bit… and Izuki, despite himself, is starting to lose hope again.

_ No! We didn’t come here to lose— _

How many times can he keep telling himself that? How many times can he pretend that Seirin isn’t floundering in the water, barely able to breathe under Rakuzan’s crushing pressure?

“Defence!” Izuki calls through gritted teeth, forcing himself to focus on the game ahead. They can still win… they can still win…

They _ have _to win.

Izuki exhales and pretends that the scoreboard doesn’t exist. Worrying about victory can come later; for now, he will play the game to the best of his ability and _ hope to God _that Seirin is better than Rakuzan.

* * *

Despite every effort, the situation simply seems to get bleaker and bleaker. It feels like Izuki is standing in the middle of an avalanche and letting himself get buried in piles of snow, getting colder every second. The numbness of death permeates his bones, but his disbelieving brain and heart work in tandem to keep his body warm with life.

_ I’m _ ** _not_ ** _ giving in here! We aren’t going to give up! _he tries desperately to convince himself, but the numbers on the scoreboard dance almost tauntingly in his face, the colour of Akashi’s right eye, like a bad omen.

Rakuzan presses ahead, basket after basket, and it’s all Seirin can do to retaliate each time. Though the gap in points doesn’t actually change, to the tired players of Seirin, it widens and widens; what once looked like a large gulf now seems an impassable sea. Izuki focuses on his breathing, trying to block out everything but himself and the court.

_ Think. Think. Think. We can’t lose here. _

Seirin is on defence now, the score 75 - 51 as Rakuzan pushes at the boundaries of their territory. A slip by Kiyoshi that he should not have made - the pressure is taking its toll even on the pillar of Seirin - and Nebuya barrels past, dunking with ease.

77 - 51.

Kagami roars then, the sound feeble compared to his usual vigour, and grabs the ball. But he’s blocked by Hayama, and the two face off yet again, Kagami having to duck and dodge to prevent Hayama from stealing.

Izuki moves to Kagami’s right, standing just beyond the three-point line, and motions for the pass. Kagami barely looks at him before quickly feinting and passing; Izuki catches the ball and shoots, channelling all those days of three-pointer practice.

It works, and he can breathe again as the ball slides neatly through the basket.

However, Rakuzan is not to be beaten, and Mayuzumi is quick to get the ball. It flies all the way across the court before any Seirin member can stop it, landing with Akashi, who passes to Mibuchi.

Mibuchi shoots. The ball arches through the air in a smooth trajectory characteristic of the Uncrowned King’s beautiful technique.

Then it bounces off of the rim and falls to the ground, much to everyone’s utter shock - including Mibuchi himself, the perfect mask broken as he gapes at the ball on the floor of the court.

Koganei is the only one unsurprised - in fact, there’s a calculating look in his eye, like he’s been _ waiting _ for this all along; indeed, like he even _ orchestrated _it. And he doesn’t waste his opportunity - he grabs the ball for Seirin before Akashi himself can react, calling, “Kagami!” and throwing it to the ace.

Kagami catches the ball and stares at it for a minute. Then he _moves_, no one in his path - and for a second, it feels like he’s indestructible, like he’s got wings and nothing could stop him from paving a fiery road straight to the basket—

And Akashi’s there. Red and golden eyes glowing coldly, the opposite of Kagami’s embers, assuming a defensive position that somehow manages to look as if he’s on the offence anyway.

Kagami stops short, pulling the ball away from Akashi. There’s desperation in his eyes, words tumbling from his lips in an incoherent blubber. Izuki knows that prayer, knows what he’s wishing for.

_ Kagami… don’t ask for that! Don’t ask for it! _

Akashi’s mouth curves up into a little smirk, smug and irritating and entitled, like he rules the court. At this point, it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that he does.

Then he lunges forward and steals the ball at a speed that even Izuki, with all his months of training, could not have imagined. He’s flying, just like Kagami was, tearing through friend and foe alike to get to the basket - except now no one’s there to block his way.

He shoots, scoring for Rakuzan. 79 - 54.

Izuki feels something sink in his stomach yet again and lifts his head to pull some more air into his failing lungs.

“Seirin High, time-out!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments make a blob happy~


	14. bird of prey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9.10.20:  
aaaaaa hello guys!! this is exciting, we're almost at the end <333 but also a bit sad, only 2 chapters to go :((  
chapter song: [Miracle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iSyN5ge0i2g) by The Score. HUUUUGE mood for this chapter <3

“We need a plan,” Kiyoshi says quietly. “We can’t beat Rakuzan just by our willpower. Individually, they’re too good.”

“We’re going to need a miracle to win this game,” Tsuchida says desolately.

Kagami has his head in his hands; he’s murmuring to himself, his fingers fisted so tightly in his red hair that Izuki thinks he might actually pull tufts out if he holds on any harder. He’s clearly blaming himself for the inability to go into the Zone - Izuki wants to do something for his underclassman, to tell him that it isn’t his fault, but what can he say? He has never experienced that well of limitless power, never known the acute need for it.

He lifts his water bottle, having barely any energy to even suck the water out of it. He tilts his head back and allows the liquid to flow down his throat, eyes dully gazing at the stands. There are far more empty seats than there were at the beginning - and honestly, why wouldn’t there be? Nothing is more boring than basketball when it’s a one-sided game. If he were in the stands, no doubt he would have left too, not wanting to watch the underdogs be crushed so badly.

“Izuki-senpai,” Furihata says in the quietest, saddest voice Izuki’s ever heard. “Do you…”

Izuki laughs, a bitter sound that echoes in his ears hollowly. “Trust me, Furi, if I had something… we’d know. I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Koganei says fiercely. However, there’s a tinge of hopelessness to his voice as well; it’s hidden cleverly, but it’s there, and Izuki _ hates _it. ”It’s not your fault. We can’t always expect you to have a plan.”

_ You should! You should be able to rely on me as easily as I can rely on you, _ Izuki thinks, clenching his hand in his shorts and biting his lower lip. _ I shouldn’t have been so caught up in how Akashi plays… how they all play… I should have been more aware… I shouldn’t have pulled that shit in the first half… they’re so good, and we’re somewhere so far below them… _

“Shun,” Kiyoshi says coolly, a furious glimmer in his previously defeated eyes, “don’t you _ dare _ think that for one minute. Don’t you _ dare_!”

Izuki blinks. _ Well, shit. _

“Tell me I didn’t say that out loud,” he almost pleads.

“You didn’t,” Kiyoshi replies. “But I know how you beat yourself up when it comes to this sort of situation. I know what you’re doing, so stop that right this second.” His tone is scolding now, and he’s glaring sternly at his captain. The first-years cock their heads in confusion. “It’s not wrong to be captivated, and there’s nothing you could’ve done anyway. He’s just that amazing.”

Izuki laughs self-consciously. “Hell, you’re right. This is no time for me to go blaming myself,” he concurs.

Kiyoshi nods. “Right. This is the time for you to think about what we’re going to do for this situation.”

Izuki shakes his head, a soft smile on his face. Kiyoshi’s trying, trying to take on his role for a minute and hold the team together as a good vice-captain should do, and he appreciates it. But there’s no way that he’ll be able to come up with a solid plan at this stage of the game. The Uncrowned Kings and Rakuzan are just too good.

“There’s nothing I _ can _do. Not without a miracle to help us, like Tsuchida said,” he admits softly, looking at his hands. He hates it - this feeling of powerlessness, this inability to spread the wings of the eagle that Seirin’s spent so long growing back feather by feather.

He’d promised himself two years ago, standing on a court just like this with a puddle of moisture at his feet. He had stared at his hands and sworn that he would never be this weak again, that he’d never let his team lose again. Seconds ago, he’d watched Hyūga’s disappearing back, powerful stride reduced to a diffident scamper, after they’d had their blowout confrontation. And he’d hated it - all he’d wanted to do was restore that confidence that Hyūga wore like a second skin. All he’d wanted to do was let Hyūga rely on him, like he always had.

All he’d wanted to do was protect those he loved most.

That hasn’t changed in two years. Izuki’s always been a protector, pushing his spear forward so the others can attack from a safe distance, putting himself in danger for everyone. And he’ll do it all over again, five hundred, one thousand times again, for this team that he has helped build from the ground. For the players that have inspired him to continue when he felt all was lost.

Except now… is there anything he can do?

His spear is broken and his sword is gone. He’s standing on one leg, bleeding from a million places, trying to shield four others in as bad - if not worse - shape as he is. Izuki’s bag of tricks is empty, his energy gone.

It looks like he’s going to be the reason that they lose again.

Silence reigns for a few more seconds before a voice bursts out, “How can I accept this?!”

Everyone’s heads, lowered to the ground, jerk up in shock to look at the person speaking. A quiet voice that they’ve never heard raised now contains emotion whose turbulence is almost frightening.

Kuroko continues, eyes blazing and tears streaming down his cheeks, “How can we give in here? I won’t stop. You guys encouraged me in my darkest place, told me that we were friends, that we would see this through to the end. I won’t stand to watch you all give in like this!”

He turns his gaze to Izuki, whose lips part slightly as the tirade unfolds.

“Izuki-senpai! You acutely pinpointed what was bothering me, took the time to find out the drama in my life, and became a rock that I could rely on in the worst of times! If Kiyoshi-senpai and Koganei-senpai are the pillars of Seirin, you’re the foundation - always supporting us in our worst moments. You’re weathering under stress, but that’s okay. For once in your life, lean on me like I have leaned on you! You aren’t alone in this!”

Izuki has no words as Kuroko turns to Kiyoshi and continues yelling.

“Kiyoshi-senpai! You of all people know what this victory means for us. It’s the worst for you, isn’t it? You can’t afford to lose here. I won’t let you lose here. How can you give up hope knowing what’s at stake?! It’s the same as I said for Izuki-senpai - rely on me as I’ve relied on you!”

“Kuroko…” Kiyoshi whispers in awe.

“Koganei-senpai! Despite being a complete rookie, with no natural ability, you drew out a talent that no one thought you had. We understand each other in a way that no one else can - Mayuzumi may have the same skill set as me, but he hasn’t worked for it like you and I have. Natural talents aren’t our thing; we sculpt the rock that’s given to us into a beautiful figurine! How dare you even think about giving up?! Isn't that an insult to your craft?”

Koganei’s cheeks are light pink. Kuroko holds his gaze for a moment, then turns and continues, this time targeting Riko.

“Coach. Without you, would we even know how to tie our shoelaces? You are the sister I never knew I needed, the person who guides and cultivates our every move. Your hand has shaped Seirin into the sword it is today; we wouldn’t know what to do if you weren’t here with us every step of the way. You’ve always been a beacon for us, showing us what to do next: so show us the path! You know it - you just need to find the strength to hold light up to it once more!”

Riko flushes faintly. Kuroko’s chest is heaving as he finishes with her, and he nods as if to consolidate his point. Then he goes on with his motivational speech, pointing at various members of Seirin as he does.

“Furihata-kun. You showed me that you can overcome the greatest of fears by weaponizing your fear.

“Tsuchida-senpai. You’ve always had a smile for me, never forgotten me even when no one else sees me. You’ve given me the power to smile in the worst times.

“Mitobe-senpai. You’ve always been Seirin’s rock-solid support, the most dependable person I know. Please allow us to depend on you for one last time today!

“Fukuda-kun. That speech of yours about surpassing those you admire - nothing has ever inspired me so much. Today I will surpass Akashi-kun, because of your words that day.

“Kawahara-kun. You reinforced the fact that even coming from a weak place, we can become strong. All it requires is a steel heart, and your steel heart stands out amongst gold and silver.”

Then, finally, he turns to Kagami. Kagami stares mutely up at him, indescribable emotions fluttering in both their eyes. Kagami and Kuroko have an equation that others can only hope to emulate, and Izuki knows that if anyone will get through to the ace, it is Kuroko.

“Kagami-kun,” Kuroko begins. “We’re shadow and light, black and white, strong and weak.” His voice is slowly rising in pitch and passion, becoming hard and powerful as he speaks. “Together, we’re better than Rakuzan can hope to be because we connect on levels that they’ve never dreamed of. Together, we are so much more than just friends - together, we’re one unit! So fight with me, with us, as a unit. We’ll see this through to the end - that was the promise, right?!”

“Yes,” Kagami agrees softly, looking at the ground. He doesn’t say anything else - he doesn’t need to.

Kuroko looks at all of them again, his gaze searching. He’s smiling gently, his eyes still wet from the tears he was crying earlier.

“Let’s win this together. I want to be number one in Japan.”

The last words are soft, but each syllable is chock-full of raw feeling. Apathy and fervour curl around fear and courage; pain and love stand starkly out against resilience and determination.

“Do you have a plan, Kuroko?” asks Koganei eagerly.

Kuroko shakes his head. “No. But I _ do _ want to fight. Nothing’s going to happen if I sit here passively!”

And he stands, pulling his wristbands on. The others exchange glances before getting up and following, a thousand questions swirling in all of their heads.

They’re not ready for this, not in a million years. But Kuroko’s right - nothing is going to happen if they sit there passively.

Isn’t Seirin all about fighting, anyway?

* * *

“Are you _ sure _ you can do something? Is there any way to use your Misdirection?” Izuki double-checks, just to be sure. Kuroko may have inspired them, may have reminded them that they have nothing to lose anymore, but it doesn’t mean that they can just play without a strategy.

“No,” Kuroko replies. “Not my Misdirection. But I do have a plan.”

He looks up, gaze fixed on a blank spot of the court. Izuki follows his eyes and understands immediately.

“I see.” He smiles and slaps Kuroko lightly on the shoulder. “Come on, then, let’s go fight!”

“Yeah!” shout the Seirin boys from behind him. Izuki bites down on the tip of his tongue, allowing the flames that burn at the thought of this match to lick at his throat once more.

* * *

The game begins once more, as high-paced as it had been when they left off, despite the very point of a time-out being to slow the game down. This time, Izuki’s sure that he won’t let desperation creep into his head - as long as he plays his heart out, as long as he gives everything he has to this game, it will give back. A calm mind comes from a steady will, and Izuki is nothing if not steady.

Mibuchi has the ball; he’s rolling it in his hands, as if deciding whether to shoot or not. Seirin isn’t using a one-on-one marking strategy, so there are two players nearest to Mibuchi rather than one: Kiyoshi and Koganei.

That’s when Izuki sees the third player.

Kuroko isn’t fast ordinarily, but determination fuels his steps as he appears from behind Mibuchi and tips the ball out of his hands. Quickly, he puts up a screen before the Rakuzan shooting guard can get past him - the ball is now free real estate, and Koga capitalises on this, taking a quick jump shot.

79 - 56. It isn’t much, but it _ is _ better to be behind by twenty-three points than twenty-five. Izuki takes a quick look at the clock - a little under seven minutes to go in the third quarter - and smiles to himself.

It’ll be near impossible, but that’s the keyword - _near_. Seirin’s done the impossible before, so near will be a piece of cake.

Well, a little more than that, but Izuki knows they’ll manage. At this point, win or lose doesn’t matter anymore. It’s all about the game, the current moment.

* * *

The next possession is Rakuzan’s. This time, Seirin is daring enough to try another one-one game; Izuki on Hayama, Koganei on Mibuchi, Kagami on Akashi, and Kiyoshi on Nebuya.

Which leaves the last, the most insane matchup of all - Kuroko versus Mayuzumi.

It’s almost ridiculous, really. Mayuzumi’s clearly shown that he can beat Kuroko at his own game, and he’s got higher specs than Kuroko as well, meaning he isn’t as much of a liability to Rakuzan as Kuroko can be to Seirin. What’s left of the audience must be thinking that Seirin’s insane to put their players in such an ill-fitting death match, and sure, maybe Izuki thinks so too, but at the end of the day, he trusts Kuroko and trusts that Seirin’s faithful shadow will not let them down.

Akashi passes to Mayuzumi, unnerving eyes following the path of the ball carefully. Mayuzumi catches it, dropping low in front of Kuroko and narrowing his gaze as he searches for the best way to the basket.

Kuroko’s chest hitches ever so slightly, and he takes a step backwards in preparation.

Mayuzumi doesn’t miss his chance.

He strikes forward like a snake, powering past Kuroko and straight to the basket, hand raised in readiness to plunge the ball into the net.

Izuki grins to himself, knowing what’s coming. Hayama’s mouth widens as he realises something’s wrong - a warning cry bubbles to his lips, but it’s too late.

Kagami’s already blocked Mayuzumi’s shot with sublime ease.

Izuki takes advantage of Hayama’s shock to catch Kuroko’s pass and make a break for it - no one’s caught up to him yet, though Akashi’s close. He stops, looking around for an open teammate, but no one’s there.

_ Seriously… do I have to do all the work myself? _

Izuki lifts the ball, suddenly so much lighter than it used to be, and shoots. He’s not worrying about whether or not it will go in - he’s well past all that now.

That, he thinks, may just be the reason why it sinks beautifully into the basket without so much as touching the rim.

79 - 58. Twenty-one points behind.

The game continues, and despite the fact that Rakuzan makes another few baskets, Izuki isn’t scared. Instead, he watches Mayuzumi, who scores all of them, and can’t help but think to himself that Kuroko really is a genius - worthy of the title of a true Miracle. The strategy, to anyone, would seem that they’re trying to tire Rakuzan’s weakest link out. But that’s just a perk of the whole plan.

Mayuzumi is shooting. Mayuzumi is scoring. The crowds are watching him and murmuring at the brutality of Rakuzan’s play, and his name resounds among the audience like a soft echo.

That echo, while faint, is still louder than their chant for Kuroko.

By allowing Mayuzumi to shine, Kuroko is fading. By overwriting him, he is winning something back that was rightfully his all along.

Misdirection will soon be Seirin’s weapon once more.

* * *

“The old Phantom Sixth Man will not win against the new one,” is Mayuzumi’s latest taunt at 83 - 58, having yet again drawn Rakuzan ahead by twenty-five points. Izuki’s sure that he doesn’t have anything to worry about, but Kuroko isn’t _ doing _anything, and there isn’t that much time left on the clock.

_ Hurry it up, _he signals to Kuroko discreetly.

The signal he receives in return is: _ Don’t worry. _

Brat. Izuki clenches his jaw and hopes to God that Kuroko will move soon.

“Mayuzumi-san… I’m afraid I have no plans of relinquishing that title just yet,” Kuroko says.

Izuki wants to hit something. In any other situation, he would be proud of Kuroko showing his steel backbone, but is now really the time?

And by the way, where the _ hell _ is the kid?!

In his moment of distraction, he misses Hayama passing to Nebuya. Furious with himself, Izuki glares at Hayama. He should have gotten that steal—

Wait. _ Wait. _

Kuroko’s missing. Which means—

The ball, which has been sailing quite happily towards Nebuya, suddenly changes course and comes right back to the Izuki-Hayama pair. Izuki is one step ahead of Hayama, snatching it straight out of the air and calling, “Counter!”

He shouldn’t have been worried for a second, he thinks, smiling broadly as he passes back to Kuroko on the offence. His underclassman knows what he’s doing - he moved in at the perfect moment.

Hayama’s already trying to stop the phantom, eyes wary as he blocks. But that isn’t Kuroko’s plan: a quick pass to Kagami ensures Seirin another two points, the score now 83 - 60.

Izuki can’t help but envision an eagle clawing up a cliff, slowly gathering the strength it once had. It’ll be slow going, but they’re getting there.

Kagami and Kuroko bump fists, sharing a quick laugh like they haven’t done the whole game, and all is right with the world.

* * *

Kuroko and Mayuzumi face off once again, the Rakuzan player in possession of the ball; this time, Mayuzumi’s eyes contain the light of realisation and the fire of fury.

Neither of them says anything. They don’t need to. Their gameplay will speak for itself.

Tension crackles in the air for a few moments. Then Mayuzumi breaks it and passes the ball to Hayama.

The pass is just a bit too low, so Izuki lets it slide. More than Seirin scoring, Rakuzan needs to miss. A reminder of their mortality should do some good.

True to Izuki’s prediction, Hayama attempts to shoot, but he misses; the ball bounces off of the hoop. Kiyoshi and Nebuya jump together, Nebuya’s face a mask of confusion, Kiyoshi’s bearing calm determination. In that instant, Izuki knows who’s going to win.

He scans the court and realises that he himself is the closest to the basket. He prepares quickly; Hayama is still gathering his wits about having missed, and neither Izuki nor Kiyoshi misses the chance.

Kiyoshi tips the ball out of Nebuya’s grasp and passes to Izuki, who runs for it. He looks around quickly for any open player; this time, Koga is there.

Izuki passes. Koganei’s hands are open.

And the pass is intercepted by Akashi.

Izuki curses himself for his moment of inaction; he should’ve used Eagle Eye. But there’s nothing that can be done about that now; he needs to track the course of the ball. And track it he does, watching Akashi dribble the ball to the hoop as if he has all the time in the world.

It’s going to be a point for sure. Koga, the closest, will not be able to move in time to stop Akashi from scoring. They’re taking a fall here, one that they really can’t afford—

But, wonder of wonders, Kagami appears, eyes burning with sudden intensity. Izuki stares in shock as Kagami drops low and steps back.

The red lightning is trailing from his eyes again.

Kagami marks Akashi like a predator chasing prey. He stands at a distance from Akashi; anyone would think that he was letting Akashi open. Indeed, Nebuya cries to Akashi to take a three. But that’s impossible - Kagami’s Zone has a new edge to it, a raw tinge of wildness. He’s a true animal, operating off of primal instinct: the most dangerous kind.

But it is not to last, for Mayuzumi isn’t all out of tricks just yet.

He disappears from Kuroko’s view, reappearing and waving at Akashi to pass to him. If Izuki isn’t mistaken, there’s a mild glimmer of relief in the heterochromatic eyes as Akashi does so.

The ball flies from Mayuzumi to Nebuya, who scores; Kiyoshi is a little too slow to stop him. Rakuzan’s lead is back to twenty-five points at 85 - 60.

Izuki glances at the clock - six minutes twenty seconds left in the third quarter. Sure, sixteen minutes is enough time to scrape together a win, but the odds of that win grow slimmer and slimmer by the second.

“Come on, Seirin,” he calls, putting strength in his voice. More than a physical battle, this is a mental game - and Izuki is determined not to lose at those. “Let’s go, let’s go! Where’s that vigour we had in the first quarter?”

The ball is in their possession - Izuki rolls it carefully in his hands, linking eyes with Kiyoshi. Unspoken, an entire plan passes between them in the matter of an instant; they are doing what they do best, working in sync, and it feels amazing.

Kiyoshi drops Izuki’s gaze and screens Nebuya, seemingly protecting his captain’s scoring chance. Hayama is there in a flash, ready to block. But that’s not what they’re after.

Izuki passes to Kiyoshi at the very last second, the Seirin center slipping past Nebuya and dunking quickly. 85 - 62; the lead is once again twenty-three points, and Izuki is ready to take a knife to it if he has to. Anything, _anything_, to win this game. His reason for that is right here with him - his friend, his brother, the person who taught him how to smile again.

Back to the court, Akashi faces a Zone-possessed Kagami again but passes to Mayuzumi, still guarded by Kuroko. Kuroko’s defence is loose, and there’s no one behind him to help - but that’s just the point.

Five seconds, four seconds, three seconds, two. Mayuzumi dribbles to avoid a violation, irritation clear on his face at being ignored. If Izuki hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting the Generation of Miracles and Himuro, he would say that he had never seen anyone so self-absorbed as Mayuzumi is. But that’s exactly what they plan to use against him, so Izuki won’t complain.

Mayuzumi dribbles a few more times, and then it happens: what Kuroko has been waiting for. The copy drives past the original, and there’s shock on Mayuzumi’s usually unreadable face as his body moves against his will.

His thought process is childishly transparent, determination forming in his eyes as he assumes a shooting position. Izuki almost pities him for being so easy to read, but again, it works in their favour, because Kagami easily blocks the shot.

Mayuzumi takes a step back, looking shaken to his very core. Kagami and Kuroko smile at each other, fist-bumping quickly, and Izuki feels pride welling in his chest as Kuroko once more disappears from sight.

Maybe Mayuzumi has the same skill set. But he hasn’t worked nearly as hard for it - he does not love basketball like Kuroko does, and he isn’t willing to do anything for the sport. It’s like what Kuroko said earlier - he does not have the same drive. The will to blend into the background, to support your team as far as you can, does not exist in an individualist like Mayuzumi. This is why, at the end of it all, Kuroko will always win the title of the Phantom Sixth Man - because he simply wants it much, much more than Mayuzumi does.

Kuroko’s done it: he’s completely overwritten Mayuzumi as the Phantom Sixth Man for his team.

* * *

With the overwriting process complete, Kuroko’s Misdirection comes back into play. His pass finds Kiyoshi, who then takes on Nebuya for a second time. To the audience, it’s debatable who will win, but Seirin knows better. Seirin knows that Kiyoshi Teppei doesn’t lose rematches.

Kiyoshi ferociously posterises Nebuya, not letting up for a second. It’s painfully clear that Nebuya is no match for the Iron Heart, despite his injury - Kiyoshi dunks over Nebuya, cutting Rakuzan’s lead down to twenty-one points. It’s again Rakuzan’s possession then, but a quick steal from Izuki’s end and a mid-range jump shot from Kiyoshi ensures that the lead is down to nineteen, the scoreboard reading 85 - 66.

What a difference just one digit can make! Nineteen and twenty seem worlds apart, despite being just one point away from each other. This is good - better than good. Izuki looks around at his teammates, watching their postures straighten, their eyes harden as they fix their eyes upon the target.

It is nowhere near as distant as it used to be. All they have to do is cover that distance, and with the momentum they’ve got right now—

“Rakuzan High, time-out!”

* * *

“It’s a decision I’d make in their position, but that doesn't make it any better for us,” Riko says angrily, looking over at the Rakuzan bench, where their fifty-something coach is bending over and speaking to the players. “Damn old man. I hope he throws his back out getting up.”

She takes a deep breath, then looks around at the team, all of whom are staring at her with calm focus in their eyes.

“You’re doing great. Keep up the momentum.”

“Nothing to tell us?” Kiyoshi asks.

“No.” Riko shakes her head. “This is all you. You guys are going to do amazing, I know it. There’s no more strategy I can provide with the game changing every second. You’re on your own.”

Somehow, it doesn’t sound ominous. It feels more like Riko is giving them her blessing to spread their wings and take flight.

“Yes, Coach,” Seirin choruses.

It’s almost time for them to go back out onto the court. Kuroko straightens his wristbands, Kagami wipes his face, Kiyoshi cracks his knuckles, Koganei bounces on the balls of his feet, and Izuki takes one last quick sip of water. Just as they’re about to leave, Riko calls out to them.

“Go be amazing, Seirin,” she says, her eyes suspiciously shiny.

“Yes, Coach!” Seirin repeats, this time with more energy and enthusiasm than ever before.

* * *

It's Rakuzan's possession, and Mayuzumi is still on the court, instead of being subbed out. It’s sort of confusing; Izuki would have bet that Akashi would sub him out.

Unless… Mayuzumi can use Misdirection Overflow? But no: Izuki dismisses the idea immediately. He _ definitely _isn’t skilled enough to do that - he’s shown that he only knows how to divert attention, not draw it. Izuki narrows his eyes and focuses on Mayuzumi; strangely, the act is far easier now, and his suspicions that something fishy is going on are all but confirmed.

“I don’t like this,” he murmurs to Kiyoshi.

“I don’t either. Mayuzumi’s too visible,” Kiyoshi agrees. “What are you going to do, Shun?”

“I’m going to watch and do my best to keep him contained. You do the same.”

“Mm.” Kiyoshi nods and takes up place beside Nebuya, in the perfect spot to attack Mayuzumi should he try something. Izuki does the same with Hayama, switching between Eagle Eye and regular vision to get a feel of the court.

He doesn’t have to think for too long, though, because Akashi is already putting his plan into motion.

Kagami’s Zone defence is widely constructed, like an impassable ring of fire. Akashi has the ball and dribbles forward slowly, as if afraid of Kagami’s sheer ability.

Mayuzumi approaches from the side, then, and Akashi’s eyes flick to him for a brief second. Kagami’s own lightning-fuelled gaze follows.

That’s when the basketball disappears.

Mibuchi has it, God only knows how, and he shoots a three - putting Rakuzan back up at a twenty-two point lead. But Izuki’s too shocked to even curse: it falls into place, then, how Akashi is using Mayuzumi.

For that is all that he is doing: _ using _ the Rakuzan power forward as a tool for passes to go through. Where Mayuzumi used to direct attention to the ball, now he is being used to direct attention away from it. They’re weaponizing him against Seirin.

And it’s working.

* * *

It's Seirin's ball, and Kuroko fires off a quick Ignite Pass to Izuki; he performs a quick layup, levelling the lead to twenty points, and everyone breathes a little easier. Not for long, though - it's Rakuzan's possession next, and Akashi makes a fast pass to Nebuya, engaging a battle under the post against Kiyoshi.

_Teppei. Come on. Come _**_on_**_._ Izuki attempts to convey his thoughts directly into Kiyoshi’s head in the futile hope that it will help.

“It was just a quick recovery,” Nebuya says tauntingly. “Why don’t you block me here?”

Kiyoshi stares wordlessly at Nebuya and jumps for the block, accepting the challenge silently. Izuki bites his lip and prays, prays for his friend to win this battle.

But by some ill luck, Nebuya is stronger. The enormous muscles push against Kiyoshi, so hard so that Kiyoshi himself can barely move, let alone make a block. Nebuya takes a simple bank shot to make the lead twenty-two again, and Kiyoshi falls, defeated.

The game goes on just like that. For every point of Rakuzan’s, Seirin retaliates, but the school of Emperors is no less. No matter how hard they try, that twenty-two point gap remains a consistent thorn in their side. Rakuzan continues to use Mayuzumi as a line of distraction, a mere device to win.

_ How cruel. To crush someone’s love for basketball like that… not like he seems to ever have had any, but you guys have successfully taken away his potential to enjoy this sport too. _

Five minutes are left in the third quarter. Izuki sighs and assumes position yet again. One side will give eventually, and he’ll make sure that’s Rakuzan.

He ignores the fact that “near impossible” is inching closer and closer to “impossible”.

* * *

The next possession is yet again theirs. There are barely fifty seconds to go, and Izuki knows that if they don’t cut the lead _ now_, there will be no comebacks.

It’s now or never.

With that thought, he motions for Koga to pass to Kagami. In times of difficulty, you rely on the ace, so that’s what Seirin will do yet again. And Kagami delivers, tossing the ball into the basket with a beautiful mid-range shot, Mibuchi’s straining fingertips no match for his Zone.

It will be Rakuzan’s possession next. Izuki furrows his brow and concentrates, sorting out exactly what the team needs to do.

Kagami needs to focus on offence, that much is clear - and he’ll need Kuroko to help him out there. With those two in the game, Akashi and Mayuzumi are struck out. That means that Izuki, Koganei, and Kiyoshi are now effectively the only wall of defence against the three Uncrowned Kings.

_ This is going to be difficult, but I’m going to need them to push back one more time. Kiyoshi… you and Nebuya. And Koga - you and Mibuchi. _

Looks like he'll need to use that strategy he’d come up with in the half-game break. It's time to set fire to the back of Rakuzan’s skirt.

Izuki glances back over his shoulder and meets a pair of eyes brimming with condescension. He returns it with a polite smile, savouring the spark of irritation on the other boy's face.

This is his match. It’s high time that that kid got taken down a peg.

_ Kiyoshi will fight against Nebuya, and Koga Mibuchi. That leaves me… with Hayama. _

* * *

As Izuki settles into place against Hayama for the last time, revealing his intent for a full battle, he can't help the twinge of fear in his stomach. The Lightning Dribble is something even Kagami couldn't beat. As much as Akashi says it out of haughtiness, it’s true that Izuki is only an ordinary player. He has a plan, but how far will it go? That plan was based off of merely observing the Lightning Dribble. Now he’ll actually have to _ face _it.

“Defence! Defence! _ Defence_!” cry Tsuchida and the first-years from the bench. Izuki spares them a half-second glance, his heart buoying a little at the support.

But it’s not enough to completely erase the mild worry he still feels about Hayama. Dark eyes meet green ones for the second time in five minutes. Hayama’s looking Izuki up and down with a calculating expression - then his face relaxes, and his gaze becomes less competitive. He even looks at Kagami for a split second, the light of competition coming alive before it dulls as he turns back to Izuki.

_ He’s underestimating me. He wants to fight Kagami because Kagami will be a better challenge. _

Hayama’s next words are what seal the deal.

He glances off to the side in an almost bored fashion, catching the ball in his hands and turning back to his opponent, then saying, “Wow, they’re really making some noise, huh?”

Izuki grits his teeth together and doesn’t say anything, keeping an intense stare trained on Hayama.

“But it doesn’t matter,” Hayama continues, starting to dribble slowly and easily. “Seirin really should’ve picked a stronger captain. It’s impossible for you.”

The words ring in Izuki’s head like clanging bells. _ Impossible for you, impossible for you, impossible for you. _Impossible… he hates that word. More than the impossibility itself, it’s the thought that holds people back.

But Izuki has never let it hold him back, and now isn’t the time to start allowing it to do so.

_ They should have picked a stronger captain - well, I am strong. Strong enough to carry the weight of my team’s hopes and dreams to the top, alongside our ace. I am strong enough, more than, to do this. Seirin is _ ** _my team_**_! _

_ Some things may be impossible for me, but not this - at least, not if I know what I’m doing. And with someone as transparent as you are… it’s going to be all too easy. _

He’s sick of being underestimated and undervalued. Izuki’s never been so completely honest with anyone, never bared all his insecurities and anger at being sidelined before this. But Hayama’s brought out the wild side of him.

Izuki shifts his weight, maintaining perfect balance in preparation for the Lightning Dribble.

_ Time to rile you up. This had better work. _

“What do you think of Mayuzumi?” he asks, as if engaging in idle conversation.

Hayama shrugs, still dribbling slowly. “I don’t know. Don’t really care. He’s helping us win, so that’s fine, I guess.”

“Hmm.” Izuki hums, searching around for the right thing to say to piss Hayama off enough - either to send him into a focused rage that’ll show Izuki where to strike at the best of Hayama’s ability, or to anger him so badly that he loses control. The first is more likely, but the second will be easier on Izuki’s body.

Well, whatever happens, happens. Izuki has a method to counteract him whichever way, and that’s enough.

“I’m not going to complain about that,” he replies, choosing his words carefully. “All I want to do is win with my team against you guys. I don’t want to lose against your tool.”

_ With my team. Against you guys. _These are the key points that will hit Hayama straight in the chest and infuriate him; the thought of a lowly, unflashy player desiring victory against the infallible Kings of the court.

And sure enough, instead of the three fingers that have been clenching the ball, four come down. Izuki can almost _ see _ the depressions in the leather - he turns his Eagle Eye on, cataloguing both their presences on the ground and from the sky - and _ knows_.

Hayama moves, the lightning flashing in the ball’s path. Izuki moves with him, a solid and immovable stormwall in the face of the incoming hurricane.

The hurricane stops, doubting itself; and in that moment of doubt, it fizzles out. Izuki straightens from his bent blocking position, a small smile of victory etching itself onto his lips at the sheer shock on Hayama’s face.

“My team,” he says confidently, “wouldn’t have made me the captain if I couldn’t _ cap _ your ability.”

Hayama stares at him for a half-second, blank incomprehension in his eyes. Then he tilts his head back and _ laughs_.

Izuki’s mouth opens in equal parts shock and delight.

_ He found my pun funny? Maybe Hayama doesn’t have such bad taste after all. _

“Sorry, dude,” Hayama says through his giggles. “I underestimated you.” He wipes his eyes, then inhales and continues, “Here goes…”

And the atmosphere changes just like that, from playful and triumphant to dark and dangerous as Hayama clamps all five fingers down on the basketball. Izuki inhales sharply, unsure if he’s even prepared for this.

He turns on Eagle Eye again, switching the perspectives faster than he ever has in his life. The images blur together, creating a map of sorts. That map shows him what to do.

_ The strain on the muscles, the second of immobility after he switches from dribbling to a normal grip. Exactly like I thought earlier - only, it’s clearer up close. _

_ I strike not at the last second, but just in the middle. _

Hayama slams the ball down, a sound so powerful that everyone winces. Everyone except Izuki, that is - he’s too focused on the player himself to even consider being scared.

_ Fear isn’t an option anymore! _

Hayama moves, faster than sound. Izuki stays in place, barely breathing as the milliseconds tick by.

_ Zero point three point two point one NOW— _

He moves, shifting his weight backwards, arm lunging out as he’d painstakingly taught himself how to do. And his hand connects beautifully, flicking the ball high out of Hayama’s loosened grasp; it falls out of bounds, the clattering sound like music to Izuki’s starved ears.

He turns, suddenly exhausted, to face Hayama. Both players exchange glances, and then they’re running for it—

But no matter how good Hayama is, he won’t beat Izuki in this. In speed or in desperation. And so Izuki’s feet touch blue first, and he looks to the referee, who tosses the ball his way. He activates Eagle Eye, not wasting a second of the five that he’s got. The player closest is Kiyoshi - despite the fact that there’s about twice the distance between himself and Kiyoshi that there is between him and Hayama, despite the fact that Hayama is entirely capable of stealing the ball, Izuki has a sense that this will work.

There’s a reason that he and Kiyoshi have always connected on a deeper level. And while this may not be all of the reason, it’s still a large part of it.

Izuki passes on the first second, watching the ball fly towards Kiyoshi as if he is a spectator. His body moves on its own, pushing him back onto the court and in the game; the ball soars, and Hayama’s grabbing hands are too late as it sails into Kiyoshi’s grasp.

Kiyoshi follows Izuki’s example, pushing himself to go at the highest speed possible as he passes to Kuroko. Kuroko, too, does the same, using his Ignite Pass to push it further to Koganei. Koga’s knees bend in readiness for a quick two—

“Pass, Koga!” Izuki screams furiously.

Koganei doesn’t even stop to think, following the order fluidly. The ball rockets backward, straight into Izuki’s hands, and he readies himself to shoot, activating the Eye.

_ Three, two - Hayama?! _

The Uncrowned King is in front of him, snaggletooth bared along with the rest of his denticles. Hayama’s eyes are wild with rage; Izuki knows this is a battle he cannot win.

Eyes darkening back to black, he switches stances, passing back without even looking. A soft growl indicates that the pass has reached its target - Izuki doesn’t have to turn to recognise the shout of victory that no doubt rises from the Seirin bench, to realise that Kagami has scored.

90 - 74. Sixteen points - a thrill shoots up Izuki’s spine. He can see Rakuzan’s back at last, the pale blue jersey as lifeless as those who wear it, playing basketball just for the sake of playing.

Seirin’s wildfire will consume it soon. It _ has _to.

“Not just defence.” Hayama’s voice, awed and furious all at once, brings Izuki back to the present.

He blinks. “Hm?”

“Not just defence. You’re calculating ahead in offence, too - I’m sure that that Eye doesn’t hurt, but you really know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

Hayama’s face is open, truthful. This is honest praise, and Izuki almost regrets the next comment that comes out of his mouth.

“I’m just glad you weren’t smarter than me.”

Hayama’s face twitches with irritation, eyes going wide and wild once more. Izuki can’t help but savour it.

Like he said, _ almost_.

* * *

The next possession is for Rakuzan: Hayama has the ball and is looking around. Clearly the time constraint of five seconds is wearing on him, as he glances indecisively from one teammate to the other. Unfortunately, Seirin’s got them all tightly locked - Izuki himself, binding Hayama down, will not allow him to score.

All locked - save one.

Hayama’s and Izuki’s eyes flicker to Mayuzumi at the same time. Izuki’s fast, but this time Hayama is faster, having realised the pass possibility just half a second earlier. The ball soars away from the two of them: but this still doesn’t matter.

Mayuzumi isn’t unmarked. It’s just that his mark is invisible. And that invisible mark appears just in time to grab the ball before Mayuzumi can. Hayama’s eyes widen with realisation, but Izuki’s already breaking free, pulling together a quick ball cycling to get it to Kagami. A dunk pulls the Seirin score up to 90 - 76; Rakuzan is still in the lead, but fourteen points is nothing in a game with such highly skilled players. It’s a fragile lead, and Rakuzan knows it.

Seirin’s chances, formerly in hell, start to rise to Earth again.

* * *

It’s the opposition’s attack yet again; Akashi has the ball and is taking on Kagami. The latter is still in the Zone - Izuki can only wonder how he’s doing it, but he doesn’t care as long as Kagami keeps up his excellent form.

But this time around, it’s different. Kagami’s defensive range burns like a ring of fire: a ring of fire, Izuki realises, that Akashi is standing just outside of.

Before he can call out a warning, Akashi’s already segued into the form for a three-pointer and taken the shot. It sinks in beautifully; that’s 93 - 76. Izuki muffles a curse under his breath and continues to watch as Akashi’s mouth moves.

“If you want to stop me, watch me closely and don’t let your guard down,” lectures the nasal voice. “Besides, even if you’ve entered a greater level of the Zone, it’s simply going to put a greater drain on your stamina.”

Kagami’s eyes darken with focus; he’s clearly mulling something over, and his lips move in a silent - prayer? Izuki can’t tell. Then he grabs the ball from under the basket and passes to Kuroko, pulling the game into action once more. Kuroko sends it straight to Kiyoshi, who finishes with a simple layup before Nebuya can reach him, cutting the lead to fifteen points once more.

Akashi’s three-pointers are troublesome, Izuki has to admit. And Mibuchi, the only person on Rakuzan who outclasses Akashi in that respect, is even worse.

But they don’t have Koganei for nothing.

Izuki would be worried in any other situation. But he knows by the light in Koga’s eyes that his friend has been waiting for this very moment, the chance to beat Mibuchi at his own game. Koganei has proven himself more than once - against Kirisaki Daīchi, his true talent coming to the fore for the first time; against Kaijō, telling Izuki that he would be their wings; against Rakuzan today, losing to Mibuchi yet never giving up hope. Pulling Izuki back up from the lowest point not once, but twice, without prompting.

He can trust Koganei to win this battle, too. All those months back, fighting Kirisaki Daīchi - he was right that loss motivates Koganei Shinji. And there could not be a better catalyst at this point in time.

As Izuki watches Koganei settle into place, a hungry flicker in his brown eyes, he grins to himself.

This battle will be long and drawn-out and tense, nothing like Izuki and Hayama, where all Izuki had to do was implement his plan. In this case, Mibuchi is the one with the brains. But Koganei’s determination outmatches practically everything on the court.

Izuki already knows who will be the victor this time.

* * *

Mibuchi receives Akashi’s pass easily, taking a step back from Koganei and standing tall. Koga changes his own stance, making it wider and more defensive. Izuki watches with an appreciative eye; Koganei is starting to develop his game sense. Mibuchi’s eyes widen for a split second before he pulls the ball back to his chest.

“Why do you look so triumphant without even having faced me properly yet?” he asks.

“I’m just happy...” Koga’s voice is a harsh whisper, barely discernible in all the background noise of the court, “...that you guys got a chance to see… how amazing our Izuki is! We’ve got the momentum now, haven’t we?”

Izuki’s cheeks turn pink at the compliment, and he looks away for a second, accidentally meeting his mark Hayama’s eyes. Hayama shrugs, a sort of concurrence to Koganei’s point; Izuki has to look away from him, too.

“So, like, I’m gonna do my best too! I’m gonna make you see how good I can be as well!” Koga continues, grinning now. “We still have a score to settle, Mibu-kun…”

He pronounces the syllables in a sing-song manner, meant to annoy - and it works, for Mibuchi gets a dark look in his eyes. He shifts position, seemingly considering how to react.

That’s when Koganei lunges.

Hands claw for the ball that Mibuchi pulls back just in time, shock replacing the arrogance and anger that was there earlier. Koganei draws himself upright, showing no signs of losing balance despite the insane move he just made. Izuki knows that he himself would’ve faltered in his footwork a bit if he’d done that, and starts to wonder exactly what Koganei is made of.

Mibuchi, for his part, clears surprise from his face and begins to analyse, eyes running carefully over his opponent. He spots something that puts a mildly amazed look on his face once more, then shakes his head, lips curving up into a smirk.

He isn’t underestimating Koganei, at least according to him. The reality is a little bit different.

Mibuchi settles into his first form - Earth, Izuki recalls distantly from all the tapes of Mibuchi he has watched - and prepares to shoot. Koga steps back, as if he’d known what was coming all along.

Faint surprise paints itself onto Mibuchi’s face before he realises his opportunity and capitalises on it to shoot a Heaven. Koga lunges forward just before the ball is released, but this time he is too late - the shot has already left Mibuchi’s hands and is sailing gracefully through the air.

Despite that, however, the shot bounces off the backboard, a far cry from Mibuchi’s usually perfect aim. Izuki replays the moment in his head and pieces together what must have happened - in his astonishment that Koganei got so close to his second shot, Mibuchi must have exerted too much force into the arc. But Nebuya is quicker than Kiyoshi, tipping the ball into the basket with his left hand.

“A cat all right,” Izuki hears Mibuchi murmuring, “but a wildcat! You really can’t drop your guard at all with these Seirin players…”

A wildcat… what does he even mean? But as Izuki looks over at Riko, a light in her eyes confirms that she knows.

He’ll ask her after the game. It’s definitely something good - and that knowledge is enough for him.

The next possession is Seirin’s, and a quick moment of teamwork between Kiyoshi and Kagami ensures that the score is back to 95 - 78. Still in Rakuzan’s favour - Izuki glances at the ever-ticking clock and bites down on his lip. They _ need _Koga to start winning this battle, and soon. From here on out, three-pointers are essential to victory.

* * *

Mibuchi is back in the shooting position for Rakuzan’s attack. He rolls the ball in his hands, contemplating what to do next.

Then he gets into the position for a shot. Koganei doesn't move, staying stock-still even as Mibuchi goes to shoot—

And it's then that he explodes into motion, at the very second that Mibuchi's entire form changes. From Heaven to Earth, Koganei Shinji moves across realms, and his hand comes up stolidly to block the ball released from Mibuchi's elegant fingers.

The leather thumps against his outstretched palm and falls to the ground, its bouncing seeming to vocalise Mibuchi's defeat.

Koganei is beginning to get the upper hand.

* * *

The next possession for Seirin goes from Kuroko to Kiyoshi, who uses his Right of Postponement to transition from a shooting form into a pass at the very last second. Kagami grabs it, taking a simple bank tip to score another two points for Seirin. At long last: 95 - 80. Izuki grins so widely that it nearly splits his face in two - finally, a difference in points that looks so much closer. This will do wonders for team morale.

The one-on-one with Koga and Mibuchi resumes; Mibuchi's eyes hold a dark gleam that Izuki doesn't like at all.

"This shot, you won't be able to even move for," he tells Koganei, vindictive pleasure in his voice. He receives no response, just brown eyes daring him to try it.

Mibuchi grins, lips stretching to bare too-perfect teeth, and then he squats. Izuki watches with confusion, ice setting into his bones as his muscle memory catches up before his brain does.

Mibuchi jumps. Koganei's legs freeze in place; the click of his knees locking is audible.

_ Oblivion. _

Mibuchi's wrists flick back. And the ball sails into the air. And—

Koganei _ jumps_.

His hand is outstretched just like it was earlier, reaching to a sky he cannot touch, the ball soaring well above his straining fingertips. His palm reaches Mibuchi's face, a crazy feat considering the height difference between the two of them.

Mibuchi drops, as does Koga. Mibuchi bears an expression of utter shock; Koga wears grim resolve instead. The stadium is pin-drop silent - you could hear the sound of someone breathing too loudly.

The ball swishes through the basket, but nobody’s looking at it. Everyone’s eyes are instead focused on the Uncrowned King, Mibuchi Reo, and the no-name rookie that _ reacted _ to his paralysing shot.

Izuki looks at the bench, expecting a proud smile in Koganei's direction, only to see - _ Riko's shaking her head. _

The whistle blows to end the third quarter, and both teams troop off the court, disbelief combined with adrenaline numbing their bones.

* * *

As soon as they reach the bench, Koganei turns to Riko.

“The chance is over, isn’t it? To block that shot?” he asks, soft desolation in his voice.

_ What? But you reacted to it - doesn’t that mean you’ll react better next time? _

“Yeah,” Riko replies heavily. “He won’t hesitate to shoot next time, even if you react to it. That was your first and last chance.”

Koganei nods, looking at his hands. “Thought so.”

“What?” Izuki can’t help it bursting from his lips. “But he jumped—”

“It’s the height difference,” Koga cuts through angrily, hands fisted in his shorts. His shoulders are shaking - he’s _crying_. “Even if I anticipate it and jump earlier, he can just change his form. If I don’t jump, the same situation. And if I jump at the right time, I still won’t reach because I’m a foot shorter than him!”

Izuki feels his eyebrows go up on his forehead. “Wow.”

“Wow what?” Riko asks, a bitter note to her voice.

“I just… I didn’t think you’d give up so easily.”

Koganei’s head shoots up. There’s fury in his eyes, and his face is white. His hands are shaking.

Izuki continues, calm and careless as he always is, “Really… after you gave me all that talk at halftime? I don’t believe this is you.”

Koganei’s jaw clenches, and he cries, “But I _ have _ done everything I can! He’s just too good—”

“And when has that ever stopped you?” Izuki keeps his voice quiet and even, but it has the gravity he intended it to - Koga falls silent immediately, eyes wide and riveted on him. “When have you ever backed down from fighting? You don’t know the meaning of giving up. You’ve never cared about whether someone’s better than you. I knew a shooting guard once, just like you, and he had the potential to be the greatest in the world. He was held back because he cared that he was worse than others. But you? You never blinked at it, just practised and practised until you could do the impossible.”

His words are getting louder with pride; he’s unable to keep it steady with the outpouring of emotion in his speech.

“Tell me, who can master Ray Allen’s form in one and a half years? Who can be such a rookie at basketball, yet be able to fight an Uncrowned King and respond to a shot that has left all its previous victims unable to move?!” Izuki leans forward and jabs a finger into Koganei’s chest demandingly. “Tell me, _ who the hell was that _?!”

“Me,” Koga whispers timidly, looking down.

“Say it louder,” Izuki demands.

“Me,” he repeats, a little stronger. The colour is starting to return to his face.

“Louder!” Izuki orders.

“Me!” Koganei finally bursts out. “You’re right. I don’t know what giving up is, and I’m not interested in learning that today!” He stands up, eyes gleaming like they have throughout this game, but ten times stronger. “Just saying this can only help me so much, though - so I’m going to forget everything else but the game. Nothing exists for me now but basketball!”

Riko starts, “What about—”

“I’ll find a way,” Koga cuts her off tersely.

Riko sighs. “I _ was _going to suggest that you try something, but if you don’t want to listen…”

“No, no!” Koganei ducks toward her, eager hunger on his face. “Tell me. I’ll try.”

Riko’s lips curve into a smirk. “Okay. Here’s the plan…”

She begins to whisper into Koganei’s ear, cupping a hand around her mouth so none of them can lip-read it. Izuki’s a little frustrated at not knowing, but hey, if it’s a Riko strategy, it’s probably going to work.

And with that confidence, both in the coach and in the shooting guard, he strides out confidently onto the court after the break with Seirin, ready to show Rakuzan what defeat means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u all for ur continued support!! pls consider commenting if you enjoyed <3


	15. born to soar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 17.10.20:  
HOOOOLY FUCK YOU GUYS. final story chapter oh my god. there's still an epilogue to come after this, but... yeah. this is it. god i swear im. crying as i upload this??? fr tears??? i shouldnt be so emotional over a fanfic but like i poured my life into this thing - the way i do with a lot of things, tbh, but 'eagles' has just been a whole new ride <3 OK FINE NO MORE DRAMA (i'll save it all for the last chapter :P)  
btw sorry for the late update!! im in the middle of exams, and was studying last night ;w;

“This situation isn’t the best,” Kagami says just before the game resumes. The lightning trailing from his eyes is starting to falter just a bit. “I can’t last too much longer - but I’ll try my best to keep Akashi at bay. I’m not going to hold anything back, senpai. Does that work for you?”

Izuki looks at his teammate, who is seemingly waiting for his approval. In that instant, he knows that Kagami will do whatever Izuki asks him to, will overcome the intense focus of the Zone to work for the team as best as possible. That’s all that he needs.

So he nods, short and terse, and replies, “That’s perfect. Do what you think is best.”

“Don’t you have a plan?” Kagami calls, a little desperately.

“Plan?” Izuki almost laughs. “If there was a time for plans, it was five years before this game. Now, we just have to come up with strategies on the go and hope that they work. Let’s play, Kagami!”

The players settle into position, Kagami taking up his spot in front of the hoop. His enormous defensive range is deterrent enough for the three Uncrowned Kings, closest to him. Only Akashi, arrogant and bullheaded as ever, faces him with an unreadable expression. Mayuzumi and Kuroko have assumed free positions, scattered about the court like pieces on a chessboard. Izuki is facing Hayama, Kiyoshi is on Nebuya - and finally, the _ real _rematch of the shooting guards.

Koganei stands differently, holds himself differently this time around. The same light burns in his eyes and seems to flow through his body, changing him completely. In the place of a talented, determined but diffident shooter is a new person, someone whose only focus is the game of the orange orb and its flight into the hoop. Despite the fact that neither of them has the ball, Mibuchi steps back as if he’s holding it. The slight look of shock on his face tells Izuki that he’s done it unconsciously - that Koganei’s new intensity scares him.

“Game, start!” the ref announces. “White ball!”

Hayama catches the ball, looking around for someone to pass it to. He locks eyes with Mibuchi and tosses—

But he doesn’t count on Izuki, who’s quick enough to pull a Kuroko and redirect the pass straight to Kiyoshi. Kiyoshi takes the cue without missing a beat and passes easily to Koganei, who holds the ball with an easy grace, as if its home is in his hands.

It might as well be, with the way he’s determined to play.

Koganei prepares for a simple shot, but Mibuchi is there, ready to block. However, Koga remains unfazed, lowering the ball and dribbling so as not to violate the five-second rule. Mibuchi narrows his eyes, calculating—

Koganei takes the quick step back and shoots. Barrier Jumper proves true, dropping straight into the basket and swishing around in the net as if to taunt Mibuchi.

95 - 88. Izuki feels his blood chill with excitement - _seven points behind_. The closest they’ve been for three quarters.

“That release was pretty fast,” Mibuchi comments airily, as if that shot didn’t just shock him out of his mind. Izuki can still see the remnants of surprise on his face, but he clears it smoothly, bringing the charismatic mask back up.

Koganei doesn’t deign to reply, but there’s a triumphant little glint in his eyes.

* * *

In the next couple of possessions, it is Rakuzan who wins, pulling their lead back up to twelve points through Akashi and Nebuya. But it isn’t too worrying - twelve is so much better than twenty-five.

It’s Rakuzan’s turn again, Akashi having stolen from Kiyoshi; Mibuchi has the ball, and Izuki and the rest have shifted into defensive positions. They can’t afford the making of this shot.

_ Come on. Please come through here, Koga! _

Mibuchi squats for his shot, Koga reciprocating the movement. Mibuchi is moving just a little deeper than he usually does, Izuki notices with dread; he’s going to use Oblivion. Izuki’s about to call a warning to Koganei when he sees the look on his friend’s face.

Not playing, but… _observing_. Koganei has sunk just as low as Mibuchi; the nearly unnoticeable difference is now non-existent. He’s copying the other shooting guard’s form as if he himself is going to shoot.

Koganei knows which shot it is, and he knows - hopefully - what he’s going to do. Izuki watches, still tense, as Mibuchi straightens up with a frightfully perfect posture.

Koganei lunges for the ball in his hands at that very second. His fingertips brush the orange leather gently, but it’s enough. Mibuchi loses focus, his set-up shattering completely. He staggers back into resting position, the ball still clutched in his hands.

Koganei targeted the most defenceless moment, the second when a player jumps to shoot, and he did it with such perfection that he didn’t even graze Mibuchi himself to incur a foul.

_ Is this Riko’s strategy? Knock Mibuchi off balance - stop his shot without jumping? _

But Mibuchi isn’t to be beaten so easily. Just because he has three special forms doesn’t mean he can’t shoot normally as well; he goes for a quick jumper, one that Koganei will be too slow to react to.

The ball soars straight towards the hoop - and misses.

Izuki inhales sharply as he realises what has happened. In the little fight that just occurred, Koga ended up pushing Mibuchi half a step back. That half a step, gone neglected, has come back to bite Mibuchi in the ass. He can’t be sure whether it was on purpose or just instinct—

_ But that’s it! Instinct - that’s why Mibuchi called him a cat - Koganei has a trace of the animal instinct. _

That’s how he’s able to read ahead, to sense subtle shifts in movement that even Izuki cannot. That’s how he reacted to Oblivion. That’s what he’s using now. Despite the fact that he has barely a few dregs of it when compared to Kagami and Aomine, it’s enough to give his play that extra boost it needs to be on par with Mibuchi.

To be _ better _ than Mibuchi.

Izuki redirects his attention to the hoop, where a fight for the rebound is currently occurring. Kiyoshi and Nebuya strain against each other - and _ Kiyoshi’s winning_.

Izuki’s eyes dart to Kiyoshi’s legs almost on instinct, and what he finds there isn’t something he likes. Kiyoshi’s going too fast, too hard - he should warn him—

_ It doesn’t matter anymore. Regardless of the results, he can’t play with us next year. Isn’t it better to push now, as hard as he can?! That’s what he’s thinking, that’s what you should be thinking too! _

And so it is that Izuki cries, “Go for it, Teppei!”

Kiyoshi’s eyes meet his, warm gratitude in brown irises. He doesn’t respond verbally, though - he chooses to show it, executing a neat spin around Nebuya and grabbing the falling ball. The arms that have been holding back for so long finally go at full strength, pushing the ball in a full-court pass not unlike Kuroko’s. It goes straight to Kagami, who dunks before his mark, Akashi, can stop him.

100 - 90. They’re _ ten points behind_.

* * *

The next chance is yet again Rakuzan’s, and this time Akashi scores with a quick three, once again beating Kagami’s ranged defence. Izuki isn’t too worried, though; it’s Seirin’s turn to score now, and he’s giving it to Koga, trusting in a guaranteed three to get back the points they just lost. By the look on Koganei’s face, Izuki can sense that’s not all he’s about to do.

But Mibuchi’s much more alert this time around, eyes warily scanning Koga. He looks him up and down, blocking at every single opportunity. Koganei can barely move under the pressure - and Izuki starts to worry.

_ What would Hyūga do? _

The question enters his head like it hasn’t in so long, only this time it’s in relation to Koga instead of himself. And it isn’t derogatory, it isn’t him asking why he can’t be more like the other. It’s simple analysis, cold and clear like any point guard would do.

_ Would Hyūga be better equipped for this? _

Izuki thinks about Hyūga with the clinical mind of a captain, then; thinks about how his old friend would’ve fared against Mibuchi. Hyūga has two advantages that Koganei doesn’t - for one, he’s almost equal in height to Mibuchi at five foot eleven, while Koganei is well below average height, shorter than Izuki himself. Second, Hyūga has far more experience in basketball.

But Hyūga would also face a million other disadvantages. His entire shooting form is modelled off Mibuchi’s; he has one-tenth the willpower and determination to win that Koganei does; and he has the habit of constantly doubting his ability. These are all things that Koganei lacks, because he took the time and effort to learn Ray Allen’s shooting form; because he never looked at Mibuchi as an idol; because even if he’s weak, he simply doesn’t care. He’ll keep fighting without thinking: he will keep struggling even if you cut off his arms and his legs. Hell, he’d probably try to shoot using his mouth. That’s the kind of person Koganei Shinji has made himself into, and that’s the kind of person they need facing Mibuchi right now.

Izuki grins to himself. Seirin’s team and its players will never lose twice to the same opponent… they’re too proud - and too passionate - for that. If not anything else, then the sheer force of their love for the game and their willpower will prevail.

Mibuchi is quick, Izuki will give him that; he’s already marking Koganei, encroaching on the far smaller shooting guard. But Koga grabs the ball, takes his quick step back - or pretends to. Mibuchi’s already lunged forwards when Koganei shifts into his original position, jumping low and holding the ball to his eye level. Just as he releases his shot, Mibuchi’s outstretched arm strikes his midriff.

The basketball sinks into the hoop with a delightful ‘thunk’ sound. The ref’s whistle blows loudly.

“White #6, pushing!” screams the referee with a red face. “Black #6, one free throw!”

Izuki’s heart jumps into his throat as Koga grins, cat-shaped mouth curving upwards into a wicked smirk.

“I don’t know who you are, and frankly I don’t give a shit. I’m just here to play with my team!” he tells Mibuchi strongly. “I might have less experience, but all that means is that I have far more potential to grow!”

Mibuchi glares, but it seems weak in the face of Koganei’s new strength and the fact that Seirin is now only _seven points behind_. 100 - 93: and Koganei now has a free throw. One that Izuki’s sure he won’t miss.

And he doesn’t. It isn’t a perfect shot - the game has taken its toll on him, but he’s good enough that it makes the basket, the change in score and the resulting yell from the audience more than satisfying. Nebuya grabs the ball from under the basket and passes to Mibuchi, but Kagami easily intercepts it and scores two points with a quick dunk.

100 - 96. _ Holy shit. _It’s such a far cry from where they were, and victory is now entirely possible.

In their exhilaration, none of the Seirin players notice the look in Akashi’s eyes as he stares murderously at their backs.

* * *

Rakuzan dominates the next few possessions as well; Hayama scores thrice, bringing the lead back up to ten points, 106 - 96. But it hardly matters: the Seirin team has most of the fourth quarter left, and they’re on fire. They have a motive, unlike Rakuzan’s players, who are all running on fumes at this point.

What’s strange is that despite Seirin’s offensive position, only Akashi is on defence. The others stand off to the side aimlessly, looking abashed and ashamed, as if they’ve committed a sin; Akashi’s face is unreadable.

It’s Seirin’s turn then; Izuki has the ball, and he makes the decision to pass to Kagami, who is still deep in the Zone. Kagami will be able to defeat Akashi - not even the great captain can stop the power of the Zone.

Kagami catches the ball, narrowing his eyes as he takes up the attacking position against Akashi. The smaller figure is overshadowed by Kagami’s looming presence, despite the fact that Kagami is standing at the free throw line and Akashi is at Rakuzan’s baseline; it feels like looking at a badly twisted version of Seirin’s light and shadow during a practice.

_ Meteor Jam, huh? Go for it, Kagami! _

And Kagami does.

He leaps high in the air, miles above Akashi, the red lightning trailing from his eyes. His right hand comes up, ready to toss the ball straight into the basket from where he is—

_ But there _ ** _is_ ** _ no ball to throw. _

Izuki chokes on shock and fear, actually staggering back as his brain fully registers the scene. Kagami drops from his jump, too shaken to even land properly - he goes skidding straight into the bottom of the hoop.

Akashi is still standing serenely at Rakuzan’s baseline. One of his hands is raised - and the basketball is held triumphantly in it. Carmine bolts are flowing from his two-coloured eyes.

_ Akashi Seijūrō is in the Zone. _

Kagami pulls himself up slowly; his face reads complete astonishment. Izuki feels much the same - his bones are numbing from the sheer surprise. He regains enough of his senses to look around, check the others’ faces. Everyone - _ including Rakuzan themselves _ \- sports the same expression that he and Kagami do.

That means that Rakuzan hadn’t known what Akashi would go for. That… he had left them out of the loop on purpose.

That he’d started to play on his own.

_ How even…? Doesn’t that defeat the entire purpose of being a PG?! _

Izuki sees Akashi’s eyes, then, and it inspires fear like nothing he’s ever felt before. The person on the other side of the court - if he can even be called a_ person _ anymore - radiates killing intent, like the blade of a sword that you don’t even know is hanging over your neck before it slices your head from your shoulders. The irises of red and gold gleam in an unnatural way; Izuki can sense that blood is about to be shed, and he can’t be sure if it is completely in the metaphorical sense.

The monster that has just been born blinks a few times, as if adjusting to the world it has newly awoken in.

“Allow me to teach the difference in social standing to all individuals on this court,” it says, its first cry to the world.

Then it strikes.

Akashi’s movements are fluid and fast, better than they’ve been all match - and that is saying something. He’s an awful and awesome sight all at once, enough to shock anyone and everyone. Indeed, his teammates stand stock-still, staring at him with equal parts hollow dread, awe, and fear.

But somehow, even in their terror, Seirin _ responds_.

Kiyoshi and Izuki move first, ever the unit. Koganei follows, setting up as best a defence as he can in front of the hoop. Kuroko forms a second line in front of his upperclassmen. Kagami, who has been following Akashi, puts on another burst of speed, doing his best to catch up to the Rakuzan captain. There’s immense strain on all of their legs, but none of them can feel it - they’re too intent on the enemy in front of them.

_ We have to stop him! _

But Akashi is a monster, and they are mere mortals. And so they fall.

Koganei goes first, a victim of clever footwork aided by the Zone. Then is Kuroko, fooled by a fake that could have been art in a museum, even better than Himuro’s. Kiyoshi does not go down so easily, taking a step back in anticipation, but it isn’t enough; his knees collapse under Akashi’s ankle breaker, and he tumbles to the court in a crumpled heap. Izuki is the last man standing, gritting his teeth as he faces the red-haired point guard.

“Is this how you play?” he forces out a weak attempt to distract Akashi. He knows it won’t work, but they _can’t let this point go_. They _have_ to do something. “Isn’t the job of a point guard to coordinate the team? Not to leave it behind and play for himself?”

Akashi raises an eyebrow. “Even now, after I’ve felled everyone else on your team, you dare to defy me?”

“There is no _ defying_,” Izuki spits, finally losing control, “to a brat like you!”

Akashi’s lips part. Then his brows dip, forming a severe expression, and it is somehow more bone-chilling than anything Izuki’s ever seen.

“It will not be enough for you to sit, Shun,” he says coldly. Izuki wants to retaliate to the use of his first name, but is struck dumb by the insanity in Akashi’s eyes. “On your knees.”

He dips out of Izuki’s sight in a second - the reaction is late, but it is there, and Izuki cries out as his knees _ give_. The fall happens in slow motion, his body inching towards the ground every second. Izuki desperately attempts to throw his leg out, catch himself on an arm, _ anything _to stop that point. But it’s too late.

The whistle blows, and Izuki hits the ground.

* * *

_ It hurts. _

** _Get up._ **

_ But it hurts. _

** _Get. Up._ **

_ It hurts… so much… _

** _The only way to stop that pain is to get up._ **

_ It'll hurt more, won't it? _

** _Only the first bit. Get. Up!_ **

_ I can't— _

** _You can and you will!_ **

_ Where do I even start? _

** _…_ **

_ … _

** _Start… from where it all began._ **

_ It began… it began with… _

** _With a boy on a basketball court, eyes silvering over for the first time. A boy who hurt, just like now, even more than now. A boy who overcame that pain with—_ **

_ My love for basketball, and for my friends. It taught me how to rise when I'm thrown down. I’d be a terrible student if I didn't use those teachings, wouldn’t I? _

** _Exactly. Now get up!_ **

_ I'll try... _

Hands move first, pressing flat against wood. They push, hard enough, fast enough to lift the body that is heavy yet light; then the legs, straightening out. The pain disappears in a flash.

_ You were right. _

** _No. _ ** ** _You_ ** ** _ were._ **

The boy stands slowly, his knees unlocking, body shaking, yet stronger than he's been all day. The strength comes from somewhere within, and it won't last, but it'll give him a push. Just enough to draw out what lies within.

He fell as a boy who had not known the world.

He rises as a man who is ready to find it.

* * *

Izuki dusts his hands on his shorts and pulls himself as upright as possible despite the knees that still ache from both the scraping they just took and the pressure that he’s been exerting on them all game. He looks straight ahead, eyes locking on a red head, the Zone’s lightning visible even though Akashi’s back is turned to him.

_ Even if I keep standing up… he’s in the Zone… and he’s amazingly talented, too... _

_ No! I can’t afford to think like that right now. In the end, he’s also a human being, just like me. That means there must be some way… some way… I just need to— _

“Seirin High, time-out!”

The shrill of the whistle brings Izuki out of his thoughts, and he follows the rest to the bench, still half-dazed.

“I’ll do it,” Kagami says suddenly. Izuki knows exactly what he’s saying—

But _no_. It can’t happen that way; Kagami is too impulsive, too emotional, to fight Akashi in the current Zone-less state. Even if he is on a different level… this is a battle that the point guards have to fight.

Izuki isn’t so stupid to think that he can beat Akashi in the Zone. But maybe, just maybe, he can find a hole that Kagami will be able to exploit. Against Akashi, brute force won’t break his walls - Izuki needs to look for a crack in his armour.

He says out loud, “Not yet.”

“What? But—” Kagami looks ready to bust a lung. “Izuki-senpai, I’m the ace, you should be able to leave it to me—”

“And I’m the captain,” Izuki cuts him through flatly. “So doesn’t that mean that my decision is final?”

Kagami falls silent immediately.

Izuki smiles softly at him. “Hey, don’t be so glum. I’m not doing this because I think you’re incapable: in fact, you _ are _the only one capable of beating Akashi.”

“No, Izuki-kun,” Riko intercedes then. Izuki turns to her, a question on his face.

“I don’t mean you shouldn’t fight Akashi-kun,” she explains quickly. “I mean… you can’t leave this to Kagami-kun anymore. It has to be you, for better or for worse. A point guard is the only one who’ll be able to find Akashi’s weakness, then exploit it: telling Kagami the weakness won’t work.” She turns to Kagami, smiling apologetically, and continues, “You’re amazing, Kagami-kun, but you don’t know how to use Akashi’s shortcomings like Izuki does. This is a battle of experience!”

Izuki feels a strange nervousness as Riko looks back at him, the apology replaced by a bright, confident grin.

“I…” he begins. “He’s a member of the Generation of Miracles. Kagami’s the only one on par—”

“Izuki-kun, _ shut up_,” Riko says fiercely.

Stunned, Izuki does as he’s told, watching with parted lips as Riko goes on.

“We need _ you _to do this because it’ll shake him. There’s no failing, no two ways about it. You can, and you will. He knows that Kagami can beat him if pushed; but he underestimates you and the rest of us.” She pokes him in the chest hard enough to hurt; Izuki rubs the spot, wincing. “Isn’t that what you always capitalise on? Use your head like your position demands!”

Izuki stares down at his hands, the sinking realisation settling into his stomach that she’s _right_. If someone as low-level as him is able to defeat, or at least stall Akashi, it will be a huge blow to the proud brat - it might even help bring him out of the Zone.

There isn’t anything they can do to make this game _worse_, anyway.

“Okay,” he says heavily. “I’ll do my best.”

“And that’s more than enough,” Kiyoshi says smilingly. “Come on, Shun, time to go have some fun!”

Izuki nods weakly, returning the smile, and heads onto court with equal parts hope and trepidation. He is going to face a monster - and he has no choice but to come out on top.

Well. _ That _isn’t terrifying at all.

* * *

The game begins again with the usual matchups, but this time Kagami and Izuki have switched marks. Kagami stands in the defensive area, glued to Hayama; and Izuki faces Akashi, trying his best to ignore the crushing pressure that is on him right now.

_ Breathe, _ he tells himself as the lightning-enhanced gaze comes to rest upon him. _ Breathe, Shun. Just breathe… this is a normal opponent. He is also a human, and he too has limits. You just have to find those limits. _

Kiyoshi passes to Koga. In a second, Akashi’s stolen the ball. But Izuki’s been watching - and he reads it, coming to a stop in front of the Rakuzan captain and assuming a blocking stance.

Akashi looks at him almost questioningly, as if to say, _ Why are you even trying anymore? _Izuki returns the stare with a flat gaze of his own, betraying nothing on his face. Then, finally, Akashi starts to bounce the ball.

One, two, three. Izuki counts the dribbles that Akashi makes; he has his Eagle Eye on, and quickly calculates what is going to happen from above as well as below. _ He’ll drive right, _he thinks, and positions his body weight just so to prepare for the move.

Akashi’s body segues into motion. Izuki blocks - and the other point guard drives past him, going towards the left.

He freezes, ice trailing down his spine as Akashi nears the basket.

_ What - how - that reaction time is crazy! But even so… I should have expected it… _

Gritting his teeth, he wills his body to move, shifting his weight back, wheeling and _ chasing_. Akashi isn’t using all of his speed, confident in his opponent’s defeat, so Izuki catches up to him with some difficulty, skidding to a stop just in front of the hoop and arms thrown wide in a blocking position.

“I won’t let you get this point!”

It wasn’t meant as a shout, but it slips out anyway; Izuki has long since lost his usually perfect control over his brain-to-mouth filter, and has never really had one when it comes to his puns. It’s natural at a time like this that words, his primary weapon against enemies far stronger, would come to the fore.

“There is no _ letting _ me,” is all that Akashi says. Then he _ dances _past Izuki and nets the points. Izuki doesn’t realise that his knees have given out until they hit the floor.

Akashi stares down at him from the height that now seems far greater than it does when Izuki is standing.

“How useless it is to fight me now,” he says, voice soft, mocking. “Do you understand now, the difference between the two of us? Do you understand that you are merely an insect at the hands of someone such as myself?”

Izuki closes his eyes, considering the weight of his opponent’s words. As much as the phrasing sickens him, Akashi is right. He is worlds behind the other in talent; it’s a gap that even incessant practice can never bridge.

But the thing is: sure, geniuses eclipse the ordinary man. But they also crack easier, because they aren’t as used to failure as regular people are. The normal human has one advantage over the genius - and that is their ability to adapt to a situation.

The last time Akashi pulled an ankle break, Izuki went sprawling, all over the court. But this time, he hasn’t fallen on his face. This time, he is still able to get up without a hand pulling him. Already his body is getting used to this pace, the style of footwork; it’s cataloguing the impact, finding ways to protect itself from injury. Already he is rising, dusting it off and meeting Akashi’s eyes calmly.

The normal human has this advantage, the edge of adaptation: one that Izuki has honed carefully, one that he has always been exceptionally good at. The next time, his knees might bend, but they will not break. The time after that, he will not so much as tremble.

Akashi is a genius of basketball - but Izuki is a genius of resilience. And in a battle between skill and toughness, it’s difficult to say who will win.

But isn’t that precisely the point?

* * *

The next possession for Seirin lands up with Izuki. He can hear, faintly, the sounds of the bench and the crowds cheering for him; his family’s voices are in there somewhere as well, and there’s a familiar shout, loudest of all, that he can’t place. But that’s all background noise - to him, there’s just the hoop, himself and Akashi on the court, and white space surrounding them.

Izuki rolls the ball in his hands carefully, considering his next move. His Eagle Eye works furiously to deliver him idea after idea; it’s impossible to break past him or to slip outside his defensive range. Akashi might well have the same range as Murasakibara, even greater than Kagami’s defence Zone. It makes things harder—

But not hard enough to stop Izuki completely.

He takes a deep breath, dribbling a few times and continuing to think furiously. The shot clock goes on winding down - 20, 19, 18 - but Izuki only has half an eye on it.

_ What can I do? _

His gaze suddenly _focuses_, and Izuki swears he’s almost able to tell apart the molecules of air on the court. It’s like the first time he awakened the Eagle Eye all over again. The world darkens around him; there’s nothing but himself and Akashi and the ball; his vision is suddenly sharper, stronger, _better_—

His muscles move of their own will, flicking the ball towards a spot where Akashi is unguarded. Or so it would seem - but any seasoned point guard would know that the left leg is one of the easiest spots to defend in a flash. Izuki’s brain, slow on the uptake, thinks with shock, _ What are you doing?! _

Akashi moves to steal, wearing a little smirk. _ So predictable. _

But somehow, Izuki _knows_. In his gut, he knows what he’s going to do well before his brain becomes conscious of it.

Akashi’s hand touches the ball. Izuki shifts back, pushing his entire body weight with every ounce of strength he has, and segues fluidly into a shooting position.

Even Akashi can’t stop what happens next - it all commences in a matter of milliseconds.

Izuki shoots. A flick of his wrists, a surprising calmness in his chest.

_ It will go in. _

And it does, with a beautiful swishing sound that Izuki didn’t think he’d be hearing any time soon. 110 - 98. They’re twelve points behind.

The shock settles in a few seconds after that. Did he really just - what did he even _ do _?!

Izuki can’t stop a little gasp as it falls into place. Somehow, his Eagle Eye evolved just then, allowing his subconscious to take over and act on his newfound instincts. His body moved before his mind could; he got a fake past Akashi.

But… no. His first movement had been no fake: he had gone full-on with it, moving completely and ducking low enough that he could have gotten it past a lesser point guard. So then… had he… had he _ reacted to his own movement _?

That’s it, isn’t it? Reading ahead several moves, plotting it out in his head, because the Emperor Eye can only see the immediate future. And he’d reacted in the single vulnerable second after it had made its move, just in time to take the points.

_ It’s like what I did with Hayama - I have to target that single defenceless moment after the move. Striking at that second is the only thing that will win me the battle. _

He finally has a plan.

* * *

The ball is back with Akashi, it being Rakuzan’s turn. Golden and red eyes blaze malevolently, full of righteous fury, the lightning trailing from them only serving to enhance the effect. But Izuki refuses to be cowed any longer. Emperors can be toppled from their thrones, especially those who are unstable.

He stands strong, feet properly spaced and steady on the floor. His breathing is even, his body balanced - though his stamina _ should _ be dangerously low, Izuki feels charged up, like Akashi’s Zone-lightning is filling him with new energy.

_ Let’s do this! _

Izuki breathes in deeply and activates his Eagle Eye. It’ll do the work for him; he just has to kickstart the process of decision. He shifts his body weight as if preparing to take a step back. He’s almost completed the move when Akashi takes the opportunity to drive past him—

_ Eagle Spear. _The words form in his mind like lights on a billboard, and Izuki moves in the same breath, jabbing straight backwards and pushing the ball cleanly out of bounds.

Akashi stands still, body tensing with shock. His hands tremble, Izuki can’t tell from rage or something else.

“Out of bounds! Black ball!” calls the ref. Izuki grins and catches the leather sphere in his hands, unable to resist smirking directly at Akashi. The younger point guard’s face is carefully blank, but even Akashi Seijūrō hasn’t mastered the art of tamping down the emotion in his eyes completely, and it shines raw. Fury, pain, embarrassment, and _fear_, too.

A little surge of pride bursts in Izuki’s chest, serving to buoy his spirits even further. This is starting to devolve into a mental game - and mental games are his greatest forte.

_ All I have to do is knock you off your perch. _

* * *

The next few turns for Rakuzan don’t go well. Izuki even manages to force Akashi into offensive fouling a couple of times when he’s unable to steal the ball - it pulls Seirin’s score up to 103 from the former 98, with a seven-point gap left to cover. The other three from Rakuzan have now started exchanging doubtful looks, staring at their captain and whispering.

Six minutes left in the fourth quarter. Izuki almost can’t believe that all of this has happened in just four minutes - but it _has_. So he assimilates the information and keeps playing. By now, it’s time to begin giving the ball to Kagami and the others. Izuki’s a coordinator, not a scorer. His success rate is nothing compared to Koganei and Kagami. He needs to start passing so that Seirin can once again be the same well-oiled machine that they were against Kaijō.

The next possession for Rakuzan is surprisingly taken by Mibuchi instead of Akashi, and not by the captain’s volition either. Mibuchi is quick to snatch it up first, and he shoots a three-pointer just as speedily as he grabbed the ball, 113 to 103 - but Koganei doesn’t look too worried, instead turning around to smile meaningfully at Izuki. Kagami’s got Hayama, Koganei can definitely retaliate against Mibuchi for each point, Mayuzumi’s locked by Kuroko, and Izuki has never needed to worry about Kiyoshi.

As long as Akashi is out of commission - as long as Izuki can keep him that way - they’ll be fine. That’s the message those three are sending.

Well, he’s got one job. He’d better do it right.

Izuki settles into an offensive stance. His eyes flicker briefly to the ball in his hands before looking back up, straight at Kiyoshi. A clear signal, one they had decided upon well before the match began. Meaning that Izuki will leave the offence in his and the others’ hands.

Akashi’s gnashing his teeth as he looks at Izuki. His eyes are starting to become unfocused, getting wilder and more enraged by the second. The lightning, marker of the Zone, is beginning to sputter.

He can’t pass now. Izuki needs to score on his own, one more time, to fully throw Akashi off.

_ Ready? _

Izuki rolls the ball in his hands again, getting a good feel of the leather in his hands. Twenty-three, twenty-two… the shot clock continues to wind down, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll make it.

It’s a quiet confidence that brims within him now. Like a foundation for everything that he’s built, it slides in under his skill, solidifying and strengthening his base attributes. It’s tuned his already refined game even further, putting him properly on par with players like Himuro and Kasamatsu. Now he doesn’t have to rely just on his mind and the ability to knock others down; he can rely on his body too, ask it to move in time, and it will.

He steps back for a shot. Akashi moves with him, hands clawing out in desperation, but Izuki isn’t surprised. Despite the fact that he’s shaken, Akashi is still a great player and will still be able to react to most of his moves.

However, he’s on the edge, and all it takes is one little push to fall off the cliff.

Akashi’s nearly off balance. Izuki takes the chance to shift his body left. Akashi again copies the movement, but his wobble is more obvious this time. That’s when Izuki spins and does a quick crossover to his right, driving neatly past Akashi and laying in a beautiful two points for Seirin. 113 - 105.

He almost can’t believe it, but… he can do this. He _ is _doing it. Izuki expects to feel proud, shocked, but there's only a bit of both. The primary emotion in his heart is the sheer joy to be playing basketball. It’s usually subdued behind thought and structure, but it’s all jumping out today.

He finds himself smiling as Akashi gets the ball again, making the steal with a grin on his face and passing back to Kagami, who dunks beautifully.

113 - 107. Six points behind.

* * *

The next possession is Rakuzan’s, ending up with Nebuya. Surprisingly, Akashi doesn’t complain, instead staring tiredly and disbelievingly at Izuki. Is he so hung up over that one loss? Izuki’s a little stunned at how mentally fragile Akashi is, but he doesn’t dwell on it - all that matters is how he can exploit it.

Nebuya prepares to score but gets the ball stolen by Kiyoshi, who dunks as easily as if there were no opponent beneath him. He picks up the ball and passes it to Koganei, who scores a basket before Mibuchi can react.

113 - 111. _ Two points behind. _It’s the closest they’ve been all match; at this point, the match could be all but won by them. The Uncrowned Kings and Akashi are running on fumes.

Izuki turns to check who has the ball. It’s Kagami, having flicked it off of Hayama and running straight to the basket. In his moment of distraction, Akashi makes a break for it. Izuki’s eyes widen, a tinge of alarm colouring his blood, before he follows, nearly keeping up with the redhead as he chases Kagami.

The two point guards race across the court, Izuki just a hand’s breadth short as Akashi jumps to block Kagami. He’s rising high, a gleam of triumph in mismatched eyes, and Izuki curses himself for the second of oversight—

But Kagami’s _ passing _before Akashi can complete his block, straight into Kuroko’s hands. He lands hard and skids right, the power of his continued Zone aiding his speed. Kagami jumps again - Akashi moves to block once more - neither of them seems to notice that Kagami does not, in fact, have the ball.

An alley-oop from Kuroko, however, seals the deal. Kagami grabs the ball; though Akashi’s hand is high to block, Kagami has the greater height and leverage. He forces his way past Akashi’s much slenderer palm and dunks straight over the Rakuzan captain’s head.

Akashi falls to the ground, the sputtering lightning finally dying out completely. His eyes are wild and wide as he stares at the board: 113-all. Seirin has finally tied the score. 

It feels like a fever dream, but nothing could be realer.

The next possession for Rakuzan is a complete disaster. Akashi has the ball, and before Izuki can reach him, he shoots. But his form and his angle are both way off, the sole reason why Izuki didn’t hurry. The ball flies in a wide arc, and bounces on the rim of the basket. Akashi looks like a lost child, mouth agape as he stares at the resounding evidence of his defeat.

_ This is the time to strike! We can’t lose our momentum now. _

“Seirin High, time-out!”

_ What? _

* * *

“Are you okay to continue this?” is the first thing Riko says, face urgent as she looks Izuki up and down. “What are you even doing?”

_ Oh. She called it because she was afraid I’d get tired. _

“I’m fine,” he answers, smiling at her a bit. “I found the blind-spot of the Emperor Eye. After Akashi moves, there’s a second of weakness, just like Hayama’s thing after his Lightning Dribble. I move the ball in the millisecond before he reaches for it. Then when he’s done with his move, I make mine. I’m not faking either way. I have to make two moves in that short time.”

“What about your stamina?”

“It’s okay. I don’t feel anything. I’m just charged up and ready to go. We have five minutes left, and they _ are _Rakuzan. I won’t put anything past them,” he replies honestly. After that little slip-up back there, even if Akashi’s mental game is down, he isn’t risking even the slightest possibility of a comeback.

“All right then.” Riko sighs. “If you’re so sure.”

Izuki nods once, taking a quick gulp of water and looking over to Rakuzan’s bench. There seems to be a bit of a commotion going on; Mayuzumi is standing tall over Akashi, spitting venomously at him, while the younger cowers. Izuki almost feels bad for him, but catches himself just in time.

Akashi’s eyes glaze over for a second. He looks down at his palms, seemingly contemplating something.

Then he lifts his head and stands up.

It’s different, Izuki realises, the way he’s walking. The arrogant cast to his shoulders is no more, but he moves with an easy grace, like a lion.

Then he bows - _ bows _\- to the rest of his teammates.

The gesture stuns Izuki completely. Proud Akashi, bowing? And that too, to those he thought had _ failed _him? It’s absolutely crazy. And yet… there’s something off about this, something wrong.

This is not going to be good for Seirin, is the foreboding feeling in Izuki’s chest. Nevertheless, he shakes it off and walks back onto the court after sharing an apprehensive look with Riko.

He just has to keep using the strategy that he’s been employing thus far. It’ll work.

It has to.

* * *

As soon as Izuki faces Akashi, he understands what the problem is.

Both of the opposing captain’s eyes are red - as in, the same red that Kuroko had said they used to be. Which means…

“Izuki-san,” Akashi says modestly, even _ smiling _as he dribbles the ball. Izuki narrows his eyes suspiciously even as shock courses through his body at the polite address. “I’m sorry about earlier. You’re a very good player.”

Izuki growls softly, not unlike Kagami, and leans in, waiting for his chance to strike.

Akashi shakes his head, giving a little laugh. “But that won’t work on me anymore. I’m not what I used to be. Surely you can tell?”

Izuki inhales sharply, sensing the bald truth in Akashi’s words. The other point guard is _right_. Because that isn’t the Akashi he’s faced all along. This is someone different - dare he say, someone _better_. This Akashi isn’t so arrogant to underestimate Izuki, and isn’t scared of defeat anymore. This Akashi will not be so easy to topple - if, indeed, that can even be done.

Izuki steps back, widening his defensive range. He’s determined not to go down. Not after he’s come this far with his team. They _ are _winning today.

He’s not prepared for the sudden movement that Akashi makes.

Dribbling the ball, the Rakuzan captain strikes forward, zipping past Izuki, who can barely breathe as he begins the chase. That speed’s caught him clean off guard: no person can be that fast.

But, he realises as he runs after Akashi who is dancing down the court, it isn’t even _speed_. Akashi struck past his right, straight into the blind spot of his Eagle Eye. It’s inhuman observation power that makes Izuki’s ability look like child’s play.

_ Oh, God… _

Fear strikes Izuki’s heart for the first time in what seems like forever, the charged-up feeling gone to be replaced by a chilling dread and an acute awareness of how incapable he is right now. His stamina is below zero, his legs are fighting to keep him upright - he has no idea how he’s even standing, let alone calling out orders and continuing the game.

Akashi darts past Kagami’s defence and moves to shoot. Kagami zips back, ready to block: it seems that even this new Akashi cannot keep up with Kagami in the Zone.

Then he fakes left and darts right.

It’s perfect, but not completely. With his Eye, Izuki’s able to predict the movement; and Kuroko apparently can too, for he’s already shifting to block.

“It’s been a long time, Kuroko,” Akashi says with a genuine smile. Kuroko looks shocked for a split second, but grits his teeth and attempts to steal the ball.

That’s when Akashi passes to Mibuchi.

The Uncrowned King looks stunned as he catches the ball. But he doesn’t waste time, jumping and shooting before Koganei can react. It makes the basket: 116 - 113.

“Beautiful shot, Mibuchi!” Akashi calls. Mibuchi’s face whitens further, and his eyes fly wide; he’s as surprised as the rest of them at the praise.

In that instant, Izuki _ knows_.

That’s the Akashi that Kuroko spoke of with such admiration in his eyes. This is Akashi Seijūrō’s true form - a point guard in the real sense. A person with the ability to draw out the best in his teammates.

_ This isn’t good. _

* * *

“It’s going to be difficult,” Kuroko says, coming up beside Izuki, who honestly doesn’t have the energy to be surprised anymore. “Akashi-kun is back to his original self. It’ll be far harsher than it was before - he’s passing like he used to back in Teikō.”

“Like he used to?” Izuki quirks an eyebrow.

Kuroko nods. “Smooth, perfectly rhythmed passes. Akashi-kun has two abilities - the Emperor Eye and these perfect passes. The second one is really more about experience and game sense, but because of how talented he is in basketball, he can do it as easily as breathing. Other players take time to adjust to the flow of the game, but he doesn’t have to.”

Izuki curses under his breath. “So… is there no way to stop him?”

“Not that I know of,” Kuroko says heavily.

“Okay. Then we just have to keep retaliating with our points. Seirin won’t go down easily!” Izuki pushes force and power into his words, desperately trying to find the same within himself. He has to keep his spirits up. Losing hope at this crucial moment could mean that all of their hard work will come crumbling down.

_ Stay calm. That’s my strength. Like a lake in summer! Relaxed, cool, level-headed. I just need to figure out what to do… _

* * *

Despite how hard Izuki’s trying to encourage himself, this game is beginning to seem impossible. Even the image of that lake, still and beautiful, is fading. Akashi is _everywhere_, passing here and shooting there - his fakes are almost as perfect as Himuro’s, and though Izuki can predict what he’s going to do, it doesn’t help if he can’t move his body in time.

There are three minutes left in the game. Rakuzan’s five points ahead now - 118 to 113. It’s barely a lead, but it’s enough. At the end, the team who has even one point more is the winner.

That _ has _ to be Seirin today. Izuki pulls himself together with more effort, gritting his teeth and scolding himself. (At any rate, that seems to work better than self-encouragement.)

_ Come on. Did you match the other Akashi by moping around? You _ ** _did _ ** _ something about it, you idiot! So do something about this now! _

Akashi comes to a stop in front of Izuki. His eyes, both crimson, are starting to glint again - and the lightning _ sparks_. Freer, faster, _ better _than the last time he’d been in the Zone: Izuki’s pretty sure he can smell ozone, and he isn’t completely confident that that isn’t real lightning emitting from Akashi’s eyes.

_ What is this crazy pressure? It’s worse than it has been all day… _

He lifts his head, looking around for a quick reprieve from the pressure. What he finds is something that chills his blood.

It isn’t just Akashi who’s in the Zone. The other players of Rakuzan have crimson lightning trailing from their gazes, too. Their eyes are intent on Seirin, like predators ready to make the kill.

_ All five of them… _

Dread wells in Izuki’s throat as he looks from player to player, praying that one of them, even one, isn’t in the Zone. But his hopes are dashed cruelly by the unmistakable red marker of the legendary state of complete focus.

The next possession is Seirin’s. Koganei catches the ball, but is confronted by the Zoned Mibuchi. There’s frustrated deliberation in his eyes as he sizes up his opponent - this is a battle that Koga can’t win. He decides to pass the ball, and Izuki opens his hands in readiness to catch it.

That’s when Hayama flicks it away and darts straight to Kagami. Izuki forces his shock down and observes the court instead, training his eyes on Hayama. The blond player’s hand clenches around the ball - he’s using all five fingers, but Kagami’s still too good for him despite his Zone. Hayama grits his teeth and passes to Akashi, who sends it over to Mayuzumi. Reluctantly, the Rakuzan phantom sets up an alley-oop with a Zoned Nebuya, but a persistent Kagami again goes to block. Izuki moves in closer, both to provide help and to watch the situation better.

_ Come on, Kagami. Block it. _

The voice in his head is panicked, wild, even though he’s doing his level best to stay calm. Izuki feels scattered, like a messy pile of papers. He barely knows what’s going on, lost in a haze of confusion and fear.

_ Focus! _

With much effort, he brings himself back to the match just in time to witness the next few events.

“The air is not your place anymore,” Akashi notes casually as Kagami’s palm comes barely a handspan short of Nebuya’s dunk height.

Kagami drops like a fly, legs hitting the ground hard. They fold almost in half, and he winces visibly, doubling over. His chest is heaving, and he’s dripping sweat like a soaked cloth. The lightning trailing from his eyes sputters and goes out again.

_ Get up! Kagami— _ Izuki thinks furiously, rushing over to help his teammate. Kagami grasps onto his hand, but his larger palm is slick with sweat and slides out of Izuki’s hold. Izuki grabs his arm and pulls upwards as hard as he can - it almost works, because Kagami rises halfway. But then he slips again, his body trembling from the insane amount of stamina he has expended today.

“I...” Kagami’s voice quivers as he stares at the ground. Izuki’s shocked to see tears sliding down his lowered face. “I’m… I couldn't even…”

“It’s okay,” Izuki reassures quickly, trying his hardest to fight against the resignation filling him. “You’ve done so well, so well…”

He turns around to check on the rest of the court. Koga’s got the ball - the situation isn’t looking good at all. Mibuchi’s blocking at every turn, and finally, desperately, Koganei steps back and shoots.

Mibuchi’s hand thuds against the leather sphere as it drops to the ground, a resounding metaphor for all Seirin’s hopes of winning. Nebuya snatches it up, passing to Hayama. Izuki leaves Kagami and runs with everything he has, sliding in front of Hayama just in time to assume a defensive position. But it’s no use - the Uncrowned King in his Zone is just too good for Izuki, and he passes him with ease, doing a little twirl as if to show off how much better he is now.

It isn’t even a true Zone. The lightning is all Akashi, drawing out every last drop of potential in his teammates. To be that kind of point guard - it’s something the greatest basketballers aspire for.

He can never even dream of matching up to that.

_ Was it all for nothing? That we came so far, that we beat Aomine and Murasakibara and Kise and Midorima? _

Kuroko’s there all of a sudden: Izuki turns, mouth agape, to see his teammate cry out and reach for the ball.

Hayama passes him in that second, and Kuroko’s hand hits his wrist plain as day.

“Black #11, offensive foul! Basket counts, one throw!” cries the ref, blowing the whistle.

Fear and pain drop into Izuki’s stomach like a leaden weight. They drag him down, down, down, straight into the abyss of despair and loneliness.

_ Nothing… I was so cocky, too cocky, to think that we could actually win the finals. We worked so hard, but it was just in vain. Were all those hours of practice, those plans and drafts, just God’s way of playing a joke on us? It’s so horrible…. I’ll never get to win a game with Teppei now. I’ll never get to lift a trophy with him, stand on the same stage. Our last basketball match together is a bust, a humiliating loss. _

Kuroko’s head is down. He’s sobbing too, the tears flowing in torrents down his face. His eyes are duller than usual. Koganei looks distraught; Kiyoshi’s eyes are wet, and Kagami is wiping at his tear-reddened face. Izuki feels like crying too, feels like screaming, but he has to put up a brave face for the team. So he swallows back against the lump in his throat, tries to pull himself together.

Then a voice, unfamiliar but powerful, reverberates through the stadium.

“Don’t give up, Kuroko!”

Kuroko lifts his head, eyes completely disbelieving. He stares straight at the source of the noise - a pleasant-looking brown-haired boy in a hoodie whose face is currently as serious as death.

“Ogiwara-kun…” he murmurs half to himself.

So _ this _ is the famous Ogiwara! The boy who had inspired Kuroko to play basketball, the person who Kuroko felt so guilty about hurting. Izuki looks up at the boy - Ogiwara Shigehiro - whose eyes are full of nothing but pride and determination.

“Go for it! You can do it! Don’t give up!” Ogiwara cries again. He turns to a person beside him and tells the guy to cheer them on as well. Kuroko just keeps looking up at his friend, rivers falling from his eyes. 

“Ogiwara-kun…” he whispers again.

“Oh, right!” Ogiwara’s face splits into a grin, and he kneels, picking up something from his bag. When he gets up and lifts his hand, they all see clearly what he holds.

It’s a basketball.

So Ogiwara hadn’t given up after all. He found his way back to what he loved… Izuki finds himself smiling despite the tight situation. Ogiwara reminds him of someone - someone who he hopes can one day pick up that basketball with a smile on his face like this guy just did.

_ Don’t give up. _

Kuroko makes a strangled noise, and Izuki turns to see that _he’s smiling, too_. That smile is immeasurably sad and immeasurably happy all at once.

Beautiful, is all Izuki can think. This sort of hope that just one person can give another…

They’re still fighting for that.

A tendril of spirit returns to him. Izuki’s about ready to grab onto it when another voice, loud and rough and rude and _ achingly _ familiar, shouts out, “Oh, _ fuck _this shit!”

Izuki’s breath catches in his chest. The world stops around him, nothing but a blur of light and sound that he can’t make out. He raises his head slowly, disbelievingly, barely able to process when his eyes land upon the source of the sound.

The boy who shrieked just now is standing, hands clamped tightly around the railings, jaw clenched in fury. He’s tall, around five foot ten, with short brown hair and grey eyes behind glasses that glint with the familiar rage and frustration Izuki knows like the back of his hand.

_ Oh, God… _

Izuki covers his hand with his mouth, wetness prickling at his eyeballs. It can’t be… it can’t be… and yet, as the boy speaks - no, _ screams _ \- again, he knows it _ is_.

“Damn it, Izuki, you fool! You’re not a guy who’ll lose like this!” Hyūga Junpei all but howls, eyes gleaming as he locks his gaze on his former friend. “You’re the idiot who’s given more to basketball than everyone else in this stadium put together! So buck up and kick their asses like you did with every game up to now!”

Izuki’s jaw slackens, and the tears start flowing down his cheeks as an invisible dam breaks in his head. Memories flood his mind, from the first time he brained Hyūga with a basketball to the time they won a two-on-five against the neighbourhood gang to their very last, bitterest fight. Somehow he can’t find a shred of pain and anger in even the worst memory; on the contrary, the remembrance makes him feel warm and safe, powerful and capable. It makes him feel _ stronger_.

He’s come so far, from the little boy who almost hated basketball, all the way up to now. Here he is in the finals against what’s possibly the most overpowered team of all time, having not only kept pace with them but even having managed to stall the great Akashi. He’s come all the way here, where Hyūga stands too, egging him on in his brash way.

The heavy confirmation that Hyūga is healing completes something in Izuki that he didn’t necessarily _ need_, but… it feels good. That’s all that he’s ever wanted.

His lips quirk up into a smile even through his tears, and before he knows it, he’s directing that smile straight at Hyūga, a meaningful look in his eyes that is returned by the brief softening of his old friend’s steel gaze.

“Seirin, _ fight_!” Hyūga shouts one last time before leaning back, his chest heaving.

“That’s right!” a new voice screams. This one’s Aomine - he’s yelling out his words before Izuki can even process what just happened. “Tetsu, Taiga, didn’t you two and Seirin beat me? I’ll kill you if you can’t even defeat Rakuzan!”

“Yeah!” chimes in a bright tone: Kise. Izuki catches Kasamatsu’s eye and gets a knowing smile in return. “Let me say the same goes for us! Win, Seirin!”

“Seirin, _ go_! Defeat Akashi and Rakuzan!” That’s Midorima and Takao, both wearing fierce expressions. 

Then Izuki catches Himuro’s eye in the audience, beside the stubbornly silent Murasakibara. Himuro’s mouth quirks up into a secretive smile, and he nods, just the barest dip of his chin. A grin picks up the corners of Izuki’s lips too as he returns the nod.

_ We won’t throw in the towel now. _

“_Seirin_!” the guys from Seihō scream, and the Senshinkan players chime in too. Slowly, the chant picks up, more and more people adding their voices to the scream. Izuki can distinctly hear Hyūga’s voice and chances one last look at him to find him yelling his heart out, hands cupped around his mouth.

_ Well, now that you’ve gone to all that effort… we can’t very well disappoint you. _

Izuki forms an O with his mouth and sucks in a sharp breath. The air fills his mouth, his nose, and his lungs - it’s cool and clear, like a splash of water straight to the face. It reignites the dying fire in the pit of his stomach; he blinks once, twice, and his eyes open into a new world.

A world in which Seirin can - and will - win.

* * *

Rakuzan is eight points ahead at 121 to 113. There are one and a half minutes left in the game. The opponents are still on fire; Seirin is prepared to fight, but right now the balance is delicate as Akashi dribbles against Izuki.

Izuki takes a steady stance and thinks furiously. Despite the pressure, he feels oddly calm. It should scare him, but it doesn’t. However, there isn’t time to think about that.

Kuroko’s words from earlier come back to him. _ “Smooth, perfectly rhythmed passes. Akashi-kun has two abilities - the Emperor Eye and these perfect passes. The second one is really more about experience and game sense, but because of how talented he is in basketball, he can do it as easily as breathing. Other players take time to adjust to the flow of the game, but he doesn’t have to.” _

Time… but hasn’t Izuki had enough time to adjust to these insane speeds? He knows what pace the game is going at. Obviously he can’t go at the same level as Akashi, but if he calculates ahead at the same time with the help of his Eye… shouldn’t that at least put him on a plane close enough to stop him? He’s stalled Akashi once before; despite the fact that this time it will most certainly be harder, he can do it again.

Izuki narrows his eyes and focuses, turning Eagle Eye on. He can see Akashi, moving left in an attempt to take advantage of the split second that Eagle Eye needs to activate. But this Akashi does not seem to have the full benefits of his Emperor Eye - indeed, it is a much duller ring than it used to be.

Izuki stays still, allowing his opponent to drive past.

_ Three… two… one… _

His breathing falls into place, and the world slows. He’s on track with the exact rhythm of the game; it’s almost as if he’s peering into another dimension.

Izuki goes for his back tip but misses by a hair, his fingers just grazing the leather of the basketball. He curses and whirls—

But not all is lost.

Akashi’s fallen off balance because of Izuki’s unexpected strike. The Seirin captain senses an invisible… not a presence, exactly, but _something_, slipping away from the new plane that he is privy to just for a second.

That second is enough, however, for Izuki to actually whirl this time and make his steal.

He doesn’t think - or maybe he _does_, he wouldn’t know. All that exists to him is that rhythm, strange and soundless yet beating from the very bottom of his heart, directing his movements. He is but a marionette in its grasp, dancing as it wants him to, fluid and easy as he tips the ball out of Akashi’s hands and onto the hardwood floor of the court.

_ I just need to stop Akashi. That’ll help these guys score. _

Akashi looks surprised, but he’s already moving to pick up the ball. However, Izuki’s closer, and he gathers it up in his arms quickly. Akashi looks a little irritated at himself, but doesn’t comment, merely sliding into place as a defender again.

Izuki opens his eyes wide and obeys the rhythm. It will protect him from Akashi’s grasp for now, because Akashi is still clambering back into it, whereas Izuki’s already firmly sat there.

_ Three… two… one… _

He passes, using his Eagle Eye to pinpoint exactly where Koganei is and not looking as he does. Akashi tries to steal, but Izuki steps back at the right moment, leaving him just an inch short of the ball. Koga catches it, wearing the same shocked look that Mibuchi had earlier, but slides into shooting form - his Allen duplicate - and nets three points before Mibuchi can block. That’s 121 to 116; they’re five behind.

“Izuki-senpai…” Kuroko says softly, voice filled with awe. “How… how are you…”

“Like you said,” Izuki says, smiling, “it’s about experience, right? I have nearly ten years of experience. I just needed some time to adjust to the pace of the game. But I have its rhythm now, and I’m using it. Because Akashi can enter that rhythm much faster, he’s able to push his players and score so much that the other team can’t come close. But the trick just lies in figuring that out as fast as you can and adapting quickly.”

“So what do we do now?” Koganei asks.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Kiyoshi says, eyes locked on Izuki’s and smiling too. “We spearhead the offence again. We score and pull up while Izuki and Akashi duke it out.”

“Exactly.” Izuki nods. “We need to be _ one _\- we need to sync like we did against Kaijō. This isn’t a game of player on player, but team on team. I need you to follow my lead here! Well, you guys?” A challenging light enters his eyes as he stares down his team with steel in his gaze. “Do you think you can keep up? Because I’m about to let loose a whole new level of play.”

Kagami is the first to reply. “What do you think of us?!” he yells belligerently. “Of _ course _ we’re going to keep up! You wouldn’t have us on this team otherwise.”

“Then,” Izuki raises his voice, “what are we still doing, huddling on the court like this?! _ Let’s go_, _ Seirin_!”

He’s answered by a powerful shout from all four of the boys surrounding him, and can’t help a proud grin.

* * *

The next possession is Rakuzan’s. Akashi passes to Nebuya, too fast for Izuki, but it doesn’t matter because Nebuya isn’t alone.

Kiyoshi faces him under the basket. The two duel silently before Nebuya drives past - but Kiyoshi goes right with him and jumps to block. His hand digs into the ball, and he flicks it down onto the hardwood.

Kagami is the first to react, scooping it up and darting towards the other end of the court. Akashi tries to break free, but Izuki holds him back to the best of his ability, and though Akashi succeeds eventually, it’s too late. There’s no one else on Rakuzan who can stop Kagami, Zone or not, and he dunks beautifully.

The ball is with Mayuzumi this time. Yet a well-placed steal from Kuroko lands it back in Izuki’s hands. He contemplates what to do for a second; they are three points behind with one minute to go. It’s possible for them to get those three points in one try if he passes to Koganei—

The rhythm agrees, and so Izuki does, sending it straight to the shooting guard. Koganei narrows his eyes at Mibuchi, then gets past him with the help of a quick screen from Kagami. His shot is more than perfect, sliding into the basket without so much as bumping the rim. But in order to pass Mibuchi, Koga has stepped past the three-point line - so they’re now one point behind with forty-five seconds to go.

120 to 121. The entire stadium holds its breath; the score is a delicate balance, a knife edge just waiting to teeter to one side.

That side is looking an awful lot like Seirin.

_ One more time! _Izuki grits his teeth and readies himself. The ball is again Rakuzan’s, but Akashi looks a little unsettled.

Izuki feels for the dark presence on the plane of rhythm and doesn’t find it.

_ Does that mean… _

And indeed, the Zone-copy trails are fading from the Rakuzan players’ eyes. They’re sweating and panting; Nebuya’s bent double, hands on his knees as he struggles for breath. The Seirin players are in as bad a state physically, but there’s a marked difference between them and Rakuzan - and that is the way they’re carrying themselves. They're soldiers on a battlefield ignoring their wounds in favour of making that last push to win this fight; they have nothing to lose any longer. All that matters is this match. All that matters is victory.

They are one in the deepest sense - in intent and in purpose.

Akashi dribbles, but it’s slower than it should be. The bouncing of the ball is erratic, just out of place from the rhythm.

_ Three… two… one… _

Izuki strikes; this time, successfully.

The ball feels perfect in his hands. He passes straight to Kuroko without even looking; Akashi blinks, disoriented. Izuki takes that second to disengage and run, following the orders of the rhythm. The orange sphere returns to him once more - he catches it and jumps, hands flicking forward. It bumps against the backboard and drops into the basket with twenty seconds to go.

122 to 121. _Finally_, in Seirin’s favour.

Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen, sixteen. Izuki can barely breathe; _ they’ve won_, _ they’re nearly there _—

But the game isn’t over yet. And Akashi proves that with his very next move, his shock at a close shave with defeat galvanising him into action. He snatches up the ball and shoots, yelling as he does, “You’re a hundred years too early to beat Rakuzan!”

123 - 122. Five seconds to go - four, three—

Izuki finds himself _moving_, barely thinking as he grabs the ball and bawls for an attack. He’s running faster than he ever has, flying up the court like there are wings on his legs. No one follows at his pace - they’re all too far behind.

No one but Kiyoshi.

The rhythm beats louder than ever, a heavy pulse in Izuki’s head and heart. He can feel Akashi on his heels and knows he needs to do _ something_.

One second left—

Izuki’s hands move on their own, passing the ball to the one person he knows that he will always find.

Kiyoshi catches it and jumps.

_ Fortyfivethirtyfivetwentyfivefifteen— _

The ball leaves his hands.

_ Fivezero— _

The whistle blows to end the game. Kiyoshi’s shot hits the backboard and drops straight into the basket. Time stops as a shrill sound screeches into the air and the ref shouts, “124 to 123, _ Seirin High wins the Winter Cup_!”

It’s like a lightning bolt, weakening Izuki from the very tip of his head to his knees and all the way down to his toes.

_ We won. _

_ We _ ** _won_**_. _

_ I won… with you. _

Izuki begins stumbling blindly to his left, not knowing where he’s going. He collides midway with a tall, strong chest, and his hands come up to wrap tightly around Kiyoshi’s middle. The dam breaks again and he’s crying into Kiyoshi’s jersey; his best friend weeps into his hair as they cling to each other like there’s no tomorrow.

_ They’ve won_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh. yeah. there we go. also YES HYŪGA i was so happy writing that scene like you all have no idea. it was planned from the beginning of the beginning tbh like i just knew hyūga would pull an ogiwara. many of you guys wanted to know about a reconciliation between hyūga and izuki as well... so i shall say no more until next friday (aka izuday!!!) >:D  
a bit of explanation for izuki's in-general OPness (speed almost equal to aomine, matching akashi's rhythm plane): aomine is a lazy fucker who hasnt practiced in a year and a half so thats the toll there + izuki has kasa-level speed by the time tōō v2 rolls around. with akashi, it's a one-time thing tbh bc of the crazy drive to win that they all had at that moment. like yes in theory it's repeatable but in practice? the conditions in this match were just right and perfect and that's the sole reason it was manageable. just like how izuki did the perfect pass to hyūga in canon!! i rlly dont want him to be tooooo OP bc as compared to canon he's definitely much better BUT he's also very much human and ordinary~  
EDIT YALL I FORGOT THE CHAPTER SONG OMG putting it at the end bc. Well. I forgot smhhhh  
chapter song: [Warriors](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Tscfrv6ZXSs) by Imagine Dragons. it really fucking fits doesn't it?? "here we are, don't turn away now"


	16. final flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 23.10.20:  
wow. here we are, a little over a year after i started this story, and... it's over. it's done. no more 'eagles'. well, i have extras, but... that isn't the same as this, and we all know it.  
then again, it's time to spread my own wings and fly off to new stories. this fic has been my magnum opus so far, and honestly? i can't wait to top myself. hell, maybe i'll even write an original novel next! i am both sad to be so completely done with this, yet glad for the opportunity to write more. izuki will always hold a special place in my heart and rest assured, i'm not done writing about him just yet <3  
[HERE](https://izukillme.tumblr.com/post/629316670141366273/lunchtimerushin-izuki-is-also-a-pretty-cool-guy) is some amazing art by @lunchtimerushin over on tumblr, that kickstarted my first seed for this fic!!! and [HERE](https://izukillme.tumblr.com/post/632775780833935360/id-an-aesthetic-made-up-of-9-images-the-first) is a GORGEOUS aesthetic made by @shadowfairyglitter, the sweet Mel <333 ilysm!!!  
chapter song: [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHg5SJYRHA0)! i wanted the last one to be a bit of a surprise <33 it truly encapsulates both how izuki feels about his team, and how i feel about this story. but you didn't hear that from me xD

Izuki’s still a little weak at the knees, even after all this. Receiving the award was probably the best moment of his life - he’d gotten to stand on the same stage as Kiyoshi, to hoist a cup with him as captain and vice. Kagami had picked up Kuroko on his shoulders, and that was how they had taken the photograph; they’d refused to have it any other way, and despite how cliched it is, it’s also heart-meltingly sweet. The look in their eyes isn’t romantic love but platonic, a bond that surpasses the limits of space and time.

It’s the way he and Kiyoshi look at each other.

Izuki shoulders his bag and walks out of the locker room before the rest of his team, intent on finding his mother and sisters. The other boys will catch up to him later; there are still celebrations to be had, and you bet Seirin’s good with those. He’s sure they don’t plan on letting their captain miss out on even one bit of it.

Though the first person he sees isn’t his mother, it’s still a familiar figure. The person is standing quietly just outside the locker rooms, presumably waiting for someone. Izuki knows exactly who that someone is.

He stops, looks Hyūga directly in the eye, and waits for him to speak.

A few moments of silence pass; it’s becoming apparent that Hyūga isn’t going to say anything, and well, why should Izuki? It’s enough for him that Hyūga has made his peace with basketball. He makes to leave when a hand grabs his wrist, none too gently but not with the intention of hurting.

Izuki turns around to face Hyūga, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. _ Well? _

“I—” Hyūga begins, his expression taut and drawn, hand still clutching Izuki’s arm. “I—”

Something shatters in his gaze, and tears start pouring down his cheeks. Izuki inhales, alarmed by the sudden crying; he can’t deal with weeping, least of all from a person who has made _ him _want to cry more times than he can count.

“I—” Hyūga’s shoulders tremble like leaves in the wind. He drops his palm, and his other hand comes up to clasp Izuki’s fingers in a two-handed grip. “I - I want you to know that I’m _so sorry_! I never should have said that stuff to you, and I never should have been such a jerk! I’m an idiot, I really am. I didn’t realise how much - how much you mattered, how much I needed you until you weren’t there. I’m so stupid. I’ve been a dick, and I don’t know if I can ever make it up to you, but I want you to know that I regret it every day of my life. 

But…” Now he’s looking at Izuki directly, and there’s a sad smile on his face. The tears in his eyes glint like diamonds. “I think my not being there… was only good for you. I was holding you back, and I can’t imagine a more amazing thing than the person you’ve become today. I’m so proud of you, and I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

He smiles and shakes his head, taking a deep breath and releasing Izuki’s hand to wipe his tears. Izuki just stands there with a slack jaw, not having expected this outpouring of feelings from the stoic rock that is his former friend. Hyūga’s face is red, but his eyes are dry and his voice is steady when he speaks again - nothing like the strained, painful tone he used moments ago. 

“It’s totally okay if you ignore this apology. In fact, I encourage you to do that - it’s clear I haven’t been good for you, and… you’re a whole lot better without me. You deserve to fly. Just… you’ll always be a part of me, a part that’s absolutely irreplaceable. I appreciate that you listened to this spiel.”

He turns to leave, but this time it’s Izuki who stops him, face cool and expressionless as he grabs Hyūga’s wrist in a pale parody of the earlier incident.

“Look at me,” he says, voice dead calm in the way it always gets before he explodes on someone.

Hyūga does, gulping. Izuki has unleashed his fury upon him once and only once, but it’s enough to make the other wary.

“You _ were _ an idiot.” Izuki delivers the verdict flatly, looking straight into Hyūga’s eyes. “You were a jerk, a bastard, and you were terrible to me. I loved you so much, but you tossed me away like I was trash.” It feels good to get it off his chest. Hyūga simply nods, looking sorrowful and accepting. “And I’ll agree that I _ was _better off without you.”

A pause.

Then Izuki’s mouth blossoms into a smile, and he finishes, “That is, the you that I used to know.”

Hyūga’s lips part, and he starts to ask, face a mask of confusion, “What—”

“Listen. You _ were _ a jerk. But you’re changing, and I think I’m willing to give you that chance. I remember the boy you used to be, and I see hints of him in the man you’re becoming. So… it’s not all lost. I don’t forgive you just yet; I don’t think I ever fully can, but you’re doing your best to be better - _ kitakore_!”

Hyūga laughs. Izuki raises an eyebrow, and he just shakes his head.

“Nothing. Guess I just kinda… missed that.”

Izuki doesn’t know how to respond (how do you deal with the fact that someone who bullied you for your jokes is saying he missed them?), so he settles for a noncommittal hum. They fall into an awkward silence after that; Hyūga seems determined to look everywhere but Izuki’s face, and all the pent-up emotion is beginning to hit, so Izuki’s sort of blocked for words too.

Then a few voices, bright and cheerful, call out, “Izuki! It’s time for the party - we’re going to Kagami’s place!”

It’s the rest of the team. Something loosens in Izuki’s chest, and he turns and smiles. “Yeah, guys. I’ll be right there; give me a few minutes.”

“We’ll wait!” Riko chirps with a grin and skips away, followed by the rest… except one. 

A hand comes down on his shoulder, warm and familiar. Izuki turns to see Kiyoshi, exchanging a quick smile with him. Then both of them turn back to Hyūga, who looks… well, Izuki can’t actually tell what’s going on in his eyes. It’s a crazy storm of emotions. His mouth is a straight line as he looks from Izuki to Kiyoshi and back to Izuki, like he’s watching a tennis match.

“You okay, Shun?” Kiyoshi asks, a clear undercurrent of hostility to his voice.

“I’m fine, Teppei.” Izuki lets out a breath, shrugging the hand off his shoulder. As much as he appreciates it, he doesn't need to be protected.

“We should go. Don’t want to keep them waiting too long,” Kiyoshi says, staring daggers at Hyūga, who to his credit doesn’t flinch but merely stares back.

“Let’s go, then,” Izuki agrees. He looks straight at Hyūga and allows a small, formal smile to play on his lips. Hyūga just nods, accepting the answer.

Izuki nods back, then turns around and starts walking away. But even as he moves toward the exit, something weighs heavily in his tired chest. For the first time in a long time, he isn’t confident in his decision.

Acting on impulse, he turns on his heel and yells out, “Call sometime, maybe!” before walking backwards out the door that Kiyoshi holds for him.

It’s an open-ended suggestion. Hyūga can choose to wallow and ignore it, or he can choose to pick up the phone. Izuki isn’t going to do so either way - he’ll be happy if Hyūga makes that call, but he won’t be terribly sad if he doesn't.

This time, he’s going to be the one that walks forward without looking back.

* * *

Izuki Aya finds her little brother asleep on the sofa the morning after his big win, a cell phone pressed to his ear. The mouthpiece is close enough to his mouth that if he sleep-talks, the person on the other line will hear it.

She gently pulls the phone out of his grip and looks through the call log, curious about who got him talking so late that he dozed off. The most recent call lasted for four full hours, having ended at 3am. It’s from a number that is as familiar to her as day, a number that used to be permanently in Shun’s recents.

She smiles and puts a pillow under her sleeping brother’s head, happy that things are finally settling into place for him. And she doesn’t miss his smile when he wakes up, an extra dash of contentment to it that she hasn’t seen in a very long time.

* * *

Saying their farewells to Kiyoshi is a tearjerker - Izuki hugs him a little too tightly and pretends that he isn't crying. But they promise to call and text and keep in touch; it’s like second year all over again, except Kiyoshi’s across the Pacific. It works in an odd way: apparently, distance _ does _make the heart grow fonder. (If there was any place left in his heart to be fonder of Kiyoshi, anyway.)

When they return to school after the farewell, there’s a lot of cacophony from the first-years. Furihata mentions a break from practice, and Riko snaps completely - Izuki motions to the rest of the second-years to start their drills and avoid their coach’s wrath, snickering at Furi’s terrified expression all the while.

Riko’s right. They can’t afford to rest for even a minute: if they do, the other teams will swallow them right up. Sure, Seirin doesn’t have their old center. Sure, they’ve achieved their goals of winning with Kiyoshi and teaching the Generation of Miracles a lesson. And if the matches against Kaijō, Shūtoku, and Rakuzan were any indication, it’ll be _ very _difficult to secure another victory like this time.

But if they can do the impossible, isn’t ‘very difficult’ just a bump in the road?

* * *

They lose the Inter-High.

It honestly isn’t a surprise; putting in the new first years had been a bad choice on Izuki’s part. Plus, they’d been up against Tōō, and now that Aomine’s decided to actually train, he’s an absolute powerhouse. Still, they have neither Imayoshi nor Susa, two of their pillars; and so they only lost by two points, impressive considering that one of the newbies had actually fallen flat on his face on the court.

But it’s all right. It had been a graceful loss, and placing second isn’t too bad. The other Miracle teams save Yōsen, who won the cup, all lost to each other - Shūtoku lost to Kaijō and Kaijō to Rakuzan. In the semis, Seirin had even managed to surpass Rakuzan once more (mainly because Mibuchi and Nebuya were both out with injuries from the Kaijō match, but Izuki will take the win).

_ We’ll triumph in the Winter Cup. We have to! _

* * *

Riko looks more than excited as she enters one day for practice, waving a neat white envelope. Izuki and Koganei, now vice-captain, both raise questioning eyebrows at her - she opens her mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a delighted squeal.

“Are you… okay?” Kuroko says unsurely. “Coach?”

“You guys know that streetball game, don’t you? The one that’s coming up soon?” Riko blurts excitedly.

Kagami starts, “Yeah, but—”

“Those are tickets to it, aren’t they?” Tsuchida guesses, beating Riko to the punch. She pouts briefly before nodding, her grin back.

“Yes! My dad was able to get them. He’s been assigned to be the American team’s guide!” she says proudly.

“I love your connections,” Izuki says, taking the envelope that’s handed to him and opening it. The tickets each read _ Jabberwock vs. STRKY: 1 Seat_, and for a moment he runs his fingers over the print, a little disbelieving still.

Now he understands Riko’s reaction. He’d feel like jumping around and shouting, too.

“Who’s going to go with you?” Koganei asks.

Riko shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ll probably—”

“Take Momoi,” Izuki says before Riko can invite him, or worse, Koga. “We can all watch it on a TV or something, and I think it’s better if I stay behind with Furi. I’ll be able to watch how he’s analysing the match. We can observe the serving of defeat to the Americans - _ kitakore_!”

“_ Izuki _…” comes a soft sigh from all around the gym, except Koganei, who muffles a laugh.

“Who knows?” Izuki continues, struggling not to smirk. “Perhaps going to see it with Momoi will make another match. _ Kitakore_.”

Riko’s face is bright red. “Sh - shut up!” she orders, flushing hotly. “I don’t - don’t insinuate - twenty laps, now!”

Izuki groans but complies silently, knowing that it’s better to take his punishment lying down. Besides, the lingering blush on Riko’s face is more than worth it.

She_ does_, in fact, end up inviting Momoi to the match. The Tōō manager comes to Seirin to pick her up, and Izuki wishes he could film the way Riko looks when she climbs into Momoi’s car.

He waits for a few moments, watching the car disappear around the corner before heading back up to the empty classroom where the more tech-savvy Koganei and Kuroko are setting up the live stream. Izuki makes himself comfortable next to Furi, both close to the screen so they can analyse each play, and they wait with bated breath for the game to begin.

* * *

The Jabberwock-STRKY game is more than infuriating. It’s worse than the first time they’d played Tōō, worse than the time Shūtoku lost to Rakuzan.

At least Akashi had treated his opponents with a shred of respect.

Izuki almost punches the desk as he watches the Jabberwock team do nothing but taunt the STRKY players. He has never seen confident Imayoshi look so humiliated, so _afraid_. Never seen level-headed Kasamatsu start to lose his cool, or self-assured Miyaji look like he’s about to give up.

Kuroko’s barely breathing, and his fingers are digging so tightly into his palms that Izuki’s almost afraid he’ll draw blood.

“Kuroko.” Ever the protective figure, Tsuchida is at his underclassman’s shoulder in an instant, grabbing his hand and squeezing it comfortingly. “Kuroko, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s _ not_,” Kuroko manages in a strained voice. “It’s _ not _okay. This is a blatant mockery of Japan and Japanese basketball. They’ve got no respect for us, their opponents. I know how hard the STRKY players work, how much they love the game. These Americans don’t care about that. It’s like the Generation of Miracles all over again.”

STRKY’s eventual loss is no surprise - 86 to 6. But Izuki is too shaken up to even consider making a pun about the defeat. He glances over at Kuroko, who is still white as a sheet and trembling as he looks at the screen.

Izuki exhales slowly and gets up, ignoring his own fury in favour of placing a gentle hand on Kuroko’s back and rubbing circles into it.

“It’s okay, Kuroko. I’m here. We’re here,” he says over and over, hoping that the soothing tone of the words will help Kuroko relax a little. It works, if just a bit; the trembling stops, at any rate, which is good. Izuki turns back to the screen to see that Kasamatsu, straightforward as ever, has walked up to the blond American captain Nash Gold Jr. and extended his hand.

“Good game,” he says, clearly struggling to keep his face friendly. “Congratulations.”

Nash Gold eyes the proffered arm up and down, then turns away, pointedly ignoring Kasamatsu. The other doesn’t let it faze him; he steadfastly keeps it up, waiting for a response.

“Mr. Gold!” cries a reporter. “Mr. Gold! What are your thoughts on Japanese basketball after playing this game?”

“What do I think?” Gold echoes mockingly in accented Japanese. “I think they’re incompetent monkeys who can’t tell a banana from a basketball!”

There’s an audible gasp from the audience at the stadium, and from the Seirin team gathered around the laptop as well. Gold sneers, thick lips pulling wide to show bright white teeth. He turns back to Kasamatsu, looking once more at the outstretched hand that’s beginning to drop.

Then he cocks his neck and _ spits _on Kasamatsu’s hand.

Izuki inhales sharply, doing his best to refrain from punching a hole through the computer screen. Kasamatsu looks somewhere between shocked, furious, and humiliated, his cheeks flushing deeply with colour as he wipes his hand on his shorts.

Gold smirks and turns back to the camera, throwing his hands out.

“You Japanese suck at basketball!” he proclaims loudly. “You should all just quit and go kill yourselves!”

The blood starts to pump in Izuki’s eardrums, and it’s only out of the corner of his eye that he sees a pale-faced Fukuda staring down at his wrists and fumbling with his sleeve. Koganei and Mitobe are on either side of him, patting his back and pulling his hands away from the scars that no doubt reside under those sleeves.

Gold laughs, the sound like acid to all their ears. “It’s hilarious how pathetic you are,” he delivers a parting shot and struts off the court, followed by his team, all sneering and smirking just like him.

“Wait!” calls a rather familiar voice - Kagetora. Izuki bites his lower lip and watches as he continues, “Another match. We’ll have another match with you. A revenge match; a chance to prove you wrong. If you win, I’ll kneel down right there and disembowel myself. If you _lose_, however, you have to apologise to us… and sail back to America on a raft!”

“What would we gain from this? Clearly, this is all the basketball you can show us!” the huge black man, Silver, laughs derisively. Gold, however, raises a hand, silencing Silver instantly.

“We’ll play it,” he says with a dark grin. “One week from now. I hope you’ll be ready to carry out your end of the deal.”

“We’ll see about that,” Kagetora says tightly, and the livestream ends a few minutes later.

Izuki’s well aware of what Kagetora is getting at. There’s only one team that has a chance of beating these guys. One dream team, a team that ruled the basketball scene in their middle school years and will have to replicate the feat now.

The Generation of Miracles.

* * *

It’s no surprise that Kuroko and Kagami are included in the team alongside the five Miracles. If anything, Izuki’s immensely proud that Seirin can also contribute players to this revenge match. He knows that the team will be as disjointed as can be, but hopefully, Kuroko’s influence will calm them a little. The bench players chosen are Hayakawa, Mibuchi, Nebuya, and Takao. The choices make sense; the Uncrowned Kings are the closest in terms of ability to the Miracles, and hence good subs. Hayakawa is a powerful forward and a safe substitute for Kagami or Aomine. Takao, too, is the obvious pick because he’s a recon expert rather than a strategist like most other point guards.

It’s the perfect team. Riko can’t stop gushing about it, and Izuki can only encourage her; their training menus get twice as hard when she’s excited, and he figures they’ll need it to win the Winter Cup. (Not to mention that it’s a little funny to watch the greenie first-years bend over with comical pain contorting their faces.)

“It’s going to be called Vorpal Swords,” Riko says brightly.

“Alice in Wonderland, huh?” Izuki says thoughtfully. “Let’s just hope that this isn’t a rabbit hole we can’t get ourselves out of. _ Kitakore._”

Riko’s face becomes grim, and she sighs. “Agreed. They’re all so skilled, but their teamwork needs _ so _much patching up. They could learn a thing or two from you guys.”

“Still, I guess Kuroko and Kagami are helping,” Koga chips in, attempting to add a note of positivity.

“I guess so.” Riko lets out another long breath, and the three - captain, vice, and coach - stare up at the night sky with thoughts of a game on their minds.

* * *

The day of the match dawns like any other. For the first time in a while, Izuki isn’t playing; still, he can’t help the anticipatory butterflies in his stomach as he slips on his clothes and heads to the stadium where the game will take place.

“A streetball match in a full-blown court,” Tsuchida laughs. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, well…” Izuki shrugs. “Jabberwock didn’t just insult STRKY, but our whole country too. I expect we’d go all out.”

They settle into place and wait for the match to begin. And neither side disappoints; the Jabberwock team and the Vorpal Swords look equally intimidating, both teams emanating intense pressure as they stare each other down.

The players of each team are introduced before the actual match begins: Izuki clenches his teeth and waits impatiently for all the pomp and show to be over. Finally, though, the ref tosses the ball up, and the announcer cries in his American-accented voice, “Tip-off!”

The Vorpal Swords are off to a good start immediately, Murasakibara catching the tip-off before passing the ball to Akashi; he sends it further to Aomine, who scores the first points of the match with a dunk. Izuki watches, on the edge of his seat - though this game’s just begun, it’s already a nail-biter due to the sheer power of the players on either side.

The Americans appear stunned by the high level of play that the Japanese are displaying, but they don’t remain fazed for too long. The Vorpal Swords manage to stay in the lead and end the first quarter with a score of 20 to 16 in their favour; but Seirin has the feeling that the _ real _match is just beginning.

Unsurprisingly, they’re proven right.

The members of the Generation of Miracles are sweating and panting as they get back onto the court. The Jabberwock team, however, seems barely tired, even exchanging jokes and sniggers as they walk lazily onto the hardwood.

The second quarter begins with Jabberwock's ball, and Silver gets past Aomine with careless ease. It seems that there’s not much to worry about, though: Murasakibara immediately fills Aomine’s spot, and his face reads fury as he blocks Silver’s shot… or tries to, because the large man is now plunging the ball down past Murasakibara’s arm, straight into the basket.

_ What?! _

Izuki can barely breathe as he watches the game progress. The Vorpal Swords continue to be overwhelmed by Team Jabberwock - in this match, the mighty Generation of Miracles has finally met their _ match_. 

He can’t even find it in himself to smile at the pun. 

As it goes on, the indestructible gods of Japanese basketball continue to crumble before Silver and Gold and their plays. This isn’t a match anymore - it’s a flat-out massacre.

But not all is lost. Kuroko and Kagami replace Akashi and Midorima on the court, and things begin to look up. With Kuroko’s passes and the other four focusing on Gold and Silver, the Vorpal Swords are able to lick their wounds. Kise and Aomine team up against Jason Silver, Aomine’s Zone and Kise’s Perfect Copy in action, restricting the American to barely any points while scoring themselves. 

But the real hit to the belly of the beast comes when Kise takes on Silver alone, employing both Zone and Perfect Copy for an electrifying six minutes. He’s a _ monster_, easily the strongest player on the court, and not one pair of eyes can be torn away from him as he dances about the court. He isn’t just stopping Silver - but _ scoring _on his own, too, and it helps the Japanese more than anything this match. But even miracles can only last so long, and by the beginning of the fourth quarter, Kise is running on fumes. He collapses finally, barely able to stand, having exhausted every last drop.

That’s when Gold decides to strike. He’s suddenly everywhere, passing and shooting at speeds that even Akashi cannot match, yanking the Jabberwocks’ lead upwards by a mile. His eyes are alight with yellow circles around the rims, the look sending a jolt of chilling familiarity down the spectators’ spines. He’s faster, fluider than he should be. It almost feels like he’s taking a look into the future…

_ No. _

He _ is _taking a look into the future. Because Izuki’s seen that Eye before, only an inferior version of it.

_ The Emperor Eye. _

It’s laughable to consider Akashi inferior to anything. The way he talks, you’d think he was some young rajah who thought he was better than everyone else, which is probably true. And yet… Gold’s eyes are impossibly, improbably superior to his.

That’s when Murasakibara takes on Silver, and everything changes.

Murasakibara’s movements are fluid, and his very posture seems to toll a death knell for the Jabberwocks. Izuki senses a sudden, subtle shift in the atmosphere of the match and unconsciously sits up straighter. Something is different about Murasakibara - something that could very well help the Vorpal Swords win the match.

Through the next minute, Izuki and the rest are on the edge of their seats as Murasakibara goes _all out_. It’s crazy - he shudders to think what would’ve happened if the Yōsen center had done the same in the match with Seirin. They would’ve been utterly obliterated, crushed into fine little particles like dust. He’s more than matching Silver, just as Kise had done, scoring over the giant of a man and pulling Vorpal Swords forward by a crucial few points to seal the gap at a ten-point deficit.

And yet - and _ yet_! The lack of practice and his constant inattention to basketball is starting to pay, because Murasakibara is tiring. His huge body simply cannot sustain the jumps he’s consistently having to make, and his wearying limbs are struggling to support his enormous weight.

Finally, he cracks, and it is literal in the worst way. Because in the process of dunking over him, Silver manages a powerful elbow to the gut that has Murasakibara tumbling, arm trapped under his large body and breaking under his own weight. It’s awful enough a sight that the pun doesn’t bring a smile to Izuki’s lips this time, either.

“I can still play!” comes the obstinate, childish voice, loud enough for all the spectators to hear. But not even a Miracle can play basketball with a broken arm, and he has to be subbed out.

However, that’s when Kuroko is put back in the game. And he ends it for real this time. His passes and invisibility are more than helpful, drawing out the full potential of each Vorpal Swords member with the way he seamlessly stitches the team together. Akashi, too, seems to undergo a change; instead of bending before Gold, he straightens up, and much to Izuki's incredulity, _ begins to overwhelm him_.

_ This is why they’re called ‘Miracles’. _

With Akashi newly awakened, Vorpal Swords begin to pull ahead once more. It’s barely a game anymore: Jabberwock struggles to maintain its lead in front of the Generation of Miracles’ enormous talent.

The match is dwindling down to a few precious seconds, and Vorpal Swords are just _ one _point behind. And the Miracles deliver: Kuroko manages to steal the ball from Gold before passing it further to Kagami and Aomine, who end the match with a dunk.

A cheer rips out of the audience, even the American side, all screaming out for the Japanese players. Izuki isn’t screaming as loudly as some - but he _ is _smirking, because he can’t wait to see Jabberwock putting their raft out on the ocean as promised.

The Sea of Japan is very rough around this time of year, he hears.

* * *

They place an agonising third in the Winter Cup. It sort of sucks to not have won, especially in his last year, but Izuki cannot begrudge the bright smiling faces of the Kaijō team as they are crowned victors of high school basketball’s biggest tournament, or Shūtoku as they stand grumpily but proudly second. Besides, it’s a pretty huge accomplishment to come third without the likes of Kagami and Kiyoshi, so he’ll take it. Izuki’s never been the kind to sit around being disappointed at losing things. And anyway, this is the last time he’ll stand in this gym as a player. He doesn't want to mark it with tears of sorrow.

After the celebration, the Seirin third-years return to the gym for their formal retirement ceremony. It leaves a thorny lump in Izuki’s throat as each one of his juniors, second- and first-years alike, come up to shake every upperclassman’s hand and say something about them. Furihata clenches Izuki’s hand longer than most and doesn’t speak for a while before he finally gets out, eyes shimmering wetly, “Thank you, senpai!”

Izuki tries to smile and fails miserably. He grips Furi’s hand and nods, something in his throat preventing him from speaking. He feels hot water prickling at the back of his eyeballs and forces it back with the iron control he’s learned over the years, but it still doesn’t diminish the lump in his chest even ten minutes later as he climbs onto the dais to make his retirement speech.

The folded paper in his hand suddenly seems useless. What words are on it that he hasn’t said to this team already? What hasn’t he given to them of himself that he can show now at this very last moment?

Slowly, he raises his hand, opens it, and flicks the balled-up speech to the other end of the room without a word. Then he closes his fist, slams it to his chest - right above his erratically thumping heart - and smiles at the team.

At _ his _team.

He screws his eyes shut as they begin to leak fluid, not wanting his last image of the Seirin boys to be tarnished by tears. Once he’s sure he’s not going to be crying anymore, he opens them again, blinking a few times, the tracks of water sticky on his cheeks.

Thirteen boys, two of them on screens, and one girl are staring up at him with proud expressions. Kuroko is openly crying, and Riko is pretending as if she hadn’t been blubbering five minutes ago. Izuki blinks widely, capturing the picture of all of them together and _ happy _for the last time like this.

Then he bows and steps off the stage. Determined steps carry him straight to his sports bag in the corner. Picking it up, he slings it over his shoulder and is the first to walk out of the gymnasium with tear-stained cheeks and dry eyes, head held high.

Hyūga meets him outside, and he’s about to open his mouth when Izuki shakes his head. Hyūga looks at him for a moment, then smiles and nods, falling into step beside him without a word. They leave the school together for the last time, taking the usual route home.

Izuki doesn’t look back once.

* * *

It’s three days to graduation, and Izuki can’t stop smiling at the two letters in his hands - one his report card, the last high school report card he’ll ever get. Nothing below a ninety and a perfect hundred in Mathematics: to be fair, he was able to cram a lot more in the final month before the exams because of the absence of basketball practice. It doesn’t mean that he didn’t head out to a court to shoot a few hoops when he got too tired of studying, but… it made a difference. A big one.

Big enough to get him into the college he wanted - all the way over in America (which is the subject of the other letter).

“_America_, Koga!” he rants to an unamused Koganei. “I don’t believe this! It’s amazing!”

“I heard you the first seventeen times,” Koga says flatly and goes back to perusing his own letter. He’s done almost as well, coming in third overall to Izuki’s second and Riko’s first, and gotten into the University of Tokyo - despite how much he complains about them, Koganei’s the type to miss his family too much to stay away from them for four full years.

“Ahhh,” Izuki says happily, leaning against his desk and looking up at the ceiling. “High school’s done, and I have no regrets with it. This is really perfect! We’ve truly been schooled - _kitakore_!” That one gets a groan even from Koga.

After the last class of the day, he walks down the hall as quickly as he can, intent on calling Kiyoshi when he gets home - he had promised to update him on the results of his finals, and he’s excited to share the good news with his family too. But before he can get remotely close to his goal, a cloth is pressed to his mouth and a blindfold tied around his eyes from behind.

“Honestly,” chides a rather familiar voice, “just because you aren’t playing anymore doesn’t mean you shouldn’t use that Eye of yours, senpai!”

“What!?” Izuki cries. “Furihata, what—”

But the words are stolen from his mouth by two sets of hands dragging him down the halls. Izuki can barely focus as he’s pushed this way and that, bickering voices surrounding him like an insulating blanket, and his sense of direction, usually top-notch, goes completely haywire. He has no idea where he is, only that there’s something hollow under his feet now and it feels oddly right—

_ Oh, _he realises as his blindfold is undone, revealing the lights of the Seirin High basketball gym. A shirt and shorts are thrown in his face; he shakes his head and pulls it off to regain full vision. There’s even a computer in the corner, set up for a conference call with Kagami’s and Kiyoshi’s visages on it, and Tsuchida and Koganei are standing in the middle of the room, dressed in basketball clothes.

“We got the same treatment,” both sigh in response to Izuki’s questioning expression, looking distinctly unimpressed.

Izuki looks to Furihata and Fukuda, the two responsible for dragging him down. Both wearing shit-eating grins, they say in unison, “Kuroko, Kawahara, and Akio-kun should be here with Mitobe-senpai anytime now!”

And true to their word, a blindfolded Mitobe is shoved into the gym by a blue head, a black one, and a pink one. Akio, the pink-haired firstie, rips off the cloth and grins, handing Mitobe some sportswear.

“You’re not throwing them at him?!” the other third-years exclaim indignantly. They go ignored.

“Guys!” Akio announces proudly. “Welcome back!”

“Okay, I’m gonna bite.” Izuki raises his hands. “What the _ hell _ is going on?”

“Well—” Natsu, another first-year, begins.

“We thought—” Fukuda continues.

“It wasn’t the right way to say goodbye to you guys,” Kuroko finishes.

“We’ve always communicated through basketball—” Kagami and Kiyoshi say from their computer setup in the corner.

“—and what better way to have a final communication than a sendoff game?” all of them ask together.

“Of course, we’ll beat your asses.” Akio grins.

“Don’t say it like that!” Natsu chides.

“Oh?” Izuki raises his eyebrows. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess we can’t refuse a good challenge. Guys?”

Mitobe, Koga, and Tsuchida give him matching evil grins and crack their knuckles. Izuki laughs and heads behind the stage to change, accompanied by Mitobe; they rejoin the team, bearing expressions that would’ve frightened even the worst of monsters, which the other two quickly adopt as well. The first- and second-years discuss among themselves, finally choosing Kuroko, Furihata, Fukuda, and Natsu as their starters. The game is kicked off by Riko - why does Izuki get the feeling that this was all her idea? - wearing an enormous smirk.

“Tip-off!” she cries, and despite the fact that Fukuda jumped first, Mitobe’s easily able to flick the ball away for the seniors.

“Just because we haven’t played in a week—” Izuki starts, snatching the basketball and sending it off again.

“—doesn’t mean we’re gonna lose so easily!” Koganei finishes, taking the pass and making a beautiful shot.

The game continues like that for the full forty minutes of play time. The younger ones put up a strong fight, but the third-years’ team is determined not to lose their last match. And they don’t - they win by just five points. However, they’re easily coerced into another game, and another, and another. Somehow, playing basketball again seems to have them all addicted: they couldn’t put the ball down if they wanted to. So it continues on, long after the sky is dark and the stars have come out of hiding.

Outside the gym, a tall, bespectacled boy lingers, his eyes settling on the figure that’s barking instructions with the occasional pun thrown in. He’s about to knock on the door, tempted to call out that it’s well past closing hours, that the watchman will be by soon to give them a good dressing-down—

His hand falters halfway on its path to the door, and he smiles, shaking his head.

_ Let them play. _

He turns and walks away, the heavy school bag on his back now seeming of barely any consequence. The light pouring through the windows of the basketball gymnasium illuminates his path for a good while, and the sounds of leather against wood, of voices shouting incoherent words laced with confidence and spirit and joy, guide his heart through the final expanse of the troubled seas it has travelled for so long.

Their game will not last much longer. Soon, tonight will come to an end. The sun will dawn tomorrow, and it will shine again for many tomorrows after that, each of which will take them further and further away from this last day of carefree abandon.

Then again, whatever takes you away from something you love is often what brings you back to discover it painted freshly in hues you never could have imagined back then. To find it the same as ever, warm and familiar, and yet…

Born anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those of you who trusted me enough to click on that link... MWAHAHAHAHA YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO IT TO EM. for those of you who didn't... why didn't you trust me i am Inocente TM  
ok ok the real chapter song: [Yell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lz8frtP6_kk) by Ikimonogakari! it perfectly captures the feel of this chapter. "goodbye isn't a sad word" *cries*  
thanks so much. thanks to my amazing readers for staying with me through this fic, for living through izuki's journey as seirin's first ever captain. thank you to everyone who kudo'ed and left a comment - you guys were such a huge part of what kept me going.  
thanks to the person i was when i began, for taking up my pen. to the person i was as i wrote, for keeping at it. to the person i was when i finished, for completing it. and thank you, most of all, to this story, for allowing me to write you. this is farewell, and it's the happiest farewell i could ever have said.


	17. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a chapter.

Hey, guys! Yes yes the fic is completed - but this is my last note to you all here, because I'm leaving the Ao3. I recently uploaded an Author Note ([here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27625078)) which details why I'm leaving. In short, I was upset that the volunteers coolly rebuffed the fact that the existence of 'real person fiction' (as well as incestuous/pedophilic fictional content) on the site should not be allowed. I don't hate on those who publish it, although I am strongly side-eyeing you if you do, but I won't let my moral policies be eroded by continuing to post here. You can find me on my Tumblr @izukillme if you wish to chat!

I'm updating this note here because I didn't want to just up and delete this fic without you guys knowing. I wanted to give some advance notice in case anyone wanted to come back and reread (a far cry I know, but there's always a chance haha). My works will remain up here until I am able to transfer them all completely to my WordPress site. That means that in a few weeks, I will be deleting this story after reuploading it there. Thank you, everyone, for your continued support. It's been an amazing ride here and I hope to see you on my new account too. I will be enabling comments, I can't live without your sweet words after all ;)

Much much love, Ceru


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